The House of the Observant
by draco dominus
Summary: Sherlock Holmes was sorted into Slytherin house barely moments after the hat touched his head. It had debated for the briefest of seconds of putting the intelligent boy into Ravenclaw but settled on Slytherin. The younger Holmes took the hat off of his head, caught his brother's eye, smirked and strolled over to the Slytherin table.
1. To Gryffindor and Slytherins we go

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this except the words themselves.

And yes it has probably been done to the ground, but I wanted to have a go. Which is what fan fiction is for I suppose.

Reviews would be lovely.

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**Chapter One**

**To Gryffindor and Slytherin we go.**

Sherlock Holmes was sorted into Slytherin house barely moments after the hat touched his head. It had debated for the briefest of seconds of putting the intelligent boy into Ravenclaw but settled on Slytherin. The younger Holmes took the hat off of his head, caught his brother's eye, smirked and strolled over to the Slytherin table.

Eyes followed him, the Holmes family was a very well known pureblood family. That had switched between the intelligence of Ravenclaw and the ambition of Slytherin for years. The elder Holmes, a newly made prefect was also in the house of the cunning.

Or so said the boy whispering in John's ear as they nervously waited for their names to be called for the sorting. The boy whispering to him was Mike Stamford, hoping to be sorted into Gryffindor. How he knew the Holmes boy John had no idea, but his eyes watched the curly haired Slytherin as he sat down at the table before turning his attention back to the sorting as Molly Hooper went up, and headed to Hufflepuff amongst a bout of applause.

John bit down on his lip, worried. He wasn't sure what house he wanted to be in, or perhaps he did and didn't want to say so in case he was put in the wrong one. His elder sister Harriet was a Gryffindor, and he had to admit he wouldn't mind ending up in the house of the brave. From what his sister and Mike had said he knew point blank that he didn't want to end up in Slytherin. The war was still recent, and lingered in the minds of the wizarding world, its taint still having its hold on the house.

Mike went to Gryffindor just as he hoped, and some people later John followed him, relieved that he had a friend in his house already, and happy to be in the same house as his sister. He settled down next to Mike, half of his nerves settling as he looked up and down the table at his house mates as Professor McGonagall stood up to great her students. She seemed nice, John thought eyeing her, though she had a look that promised punishment if you crossed her. John hoped her never would. Though being a member of Gryffindor house, meant that he probably would. Gryffindors were very good at ending up in the headmistresses office.

The houses were dismissed and Gryffindor's prefect Jennifer Wilson ushered the first years towards the doors which they reached at the same time as the Slytherins, causing it to clog up. Although either house could have stopped to allow the other through, neither did. Gryffindors and Slytherins were like that. Or so Mike said. He seemed to know a lot about Hogwarts.

"Oh, hello Sherlock," he said as the Slytherin boy was now standing next to them, waiting to get through the doorway.

Sherlock turned at the mention of his name. "Hello Mike," he said stiffly as if he didn't think very much of the boy. His eyes drifted to John.

"John Watson," John said.

"Yes," was Sherlock's reply. John frowned. And was about to ask but Sherlock apprehended his question and answered it for him. "I unlike apparently the rest of the school paid attention to the sorting. John Watson, Gryffindor, I'd say a Muggleborn but with a sibling at Hogwarts, presumably also in Gryffindor house."

John blinked. And there was a clearing which Sherlock slipped through without another word. John turned to Mike who shook his head. "You haven't seen anything yet," he said cheerfully as they also got out of the clogged hall.

"But, how?" John stuttered.

Mike just shrugged. "Don't ask me, but on the scale of things him knowing you have a sibling isn't that big."

"He knew I was a Muggleborn."

Mike shrugged once more. "Don't ask me how he does it, but he does," his eyes lit up suddenly. "I can't wait till I see the teachers reactions," he chuckled. "They won't like it very much."

"Like what?" John asked as they followed their prefect up the stairs with gasps of wonder. Even the Purebloods had hardly seen anything like it.

"He can tell you your life story just by looking at you, or he will be able to one day. You just watch John."

John did.

Or rather, he tried to. The excitement of Hogwarts pushed Sherlock Holmes firmly out of his mind. He was too busy learning the patterns of the staircases, and the fastest way to get from class to class without somehow ending up on the wrong side of the school.

The first class of which he was reminded of Sherlock was the third day of the term in transfiguration. The teacher was Professor Hudson, also the newly made head of Gryffindor house since McGonagall became headmistress. Mike, John and another boy in their dorm called Carl Powers sat in the back corner of the room.

Professor Hudson did the roll and it was the boy's bored 'here' that brought Sherlock Holmes back to John's attention. He was sitting in the other back corner of the room, his eyes watchful following the sound of the student's calling as their name was read off the roll. John wondered if he knew the whole year level yet.

He sat on his own, the spot next to him empty. Which John found odd if the boy was a pureblood, wouldn't he know people already. But the empty space beside him didn't seem to bother him much, he watched the teacher with an interesting mix of rapt attention and managing to appear bored at the same time.

Sherlock glanced sideways, seeming to notice the boy staring at him, he watched John for a few long moments, smirked and turned his attention back to Professor Hudson.

The bell rang and John grabbed his books, and went to accost Sherlock about how he knew he was muggleborn but somehow he had already slipped away.

The next class was potions and while blowing themselves up seemed like a real threat, they weren't too worried. Supposedly the potions teacher was nice, even for head of Slytherin. Beside, they were Gryffindors and by Gryffindor standards explosions were good.

"What house do we have potions with?" John asked as they headed through the great hall and towards the dungeons.

"Slytherin I think," Mike said.

Carl made a disgruntled noise. "We just had transfiguration with them," he protested, as if that would make any difference at all. But it had caught John's attention. Sherlock Holmes was in this class.

Though once more he managed to slip out quickly whilst the rest of the class gathered their books. A few days later John was about to give up on trying to catch him before he left the room, when at the end of transfiguration Sherlock strolled over to John's desk and seemingly picked up one of his books without noticing it.

"You have a question," he said to John, it was a statement not a question. "Ask it. How?" as John had opened his mouth to say exactly that, 'how?'. "You've been continuously staring at me in every class we have together," John went pink. "And frowning, you are trying to puzzle something out. So ask your question, even if I already know what it is." He was flicking through John's book.

Behind John, Mike gave a snort of amusement. "How," John started. "Did you-"

Sherlock gave an audible sigh, as if John was purposely taking too long to figure out how to ask the question. "Did I know about your sibling and blood status?" John nodded dumbly. "Muggleborns you can spot a mile away their first day at Hogwarts, the purebloods fit right even, there is a slight bit of awe in their expression. It is quite grand even with the magic they are used to.

"Muggleborns are completely overwhelmed. Added to the fact that Mike here was whispering in you're the whole time and he knows Hogwarts well enough, older siblings will do that to you. But yours didn't, I guess you are on bad terms with him."

"How do you know about my sibling at all?" John demanded, excusing the fact that Sherlock had gotten the gender of his sister wrong.

Sherlock smiled, but it didn't appear very warm. Most of the class had left at this point, Carl and Mike hanging around for John. Professor Hudson packing up. "Your relief at getting placed into Gryffindor, it might have just been Mike here but your eyes searched the table as you went to sit down. Looking for someone, I'd say a relative, presumably a sibling if you are muggleborn. And your book just confirmed that," he placed John's book back onto the table. Open it read on the cover 'Harry Watson' with the name crossed out and John's scrawled underneath.

John stared. "Woah," he said. "Brilliant," Sherlock smiled. "But Harry is a girl."

"Ah, gender neutral names," he wrinkled his nose. "Or nickname. Harriet?"

"Harriet," John confirmed.

Sherlock nodded firmly. "Try not to watch people too obviously Watson. Puts people on alert," and with that he turned and left. John blinked after him, struggling to find a word to say.

From the front of the room Professor Hudson laughed, and the three Gryffindor boys turned to face her. She smiled at them. "Oh that Sherlock Holmes," she said with an amused shake of her head. "Off you go boys, you'll miss lunch."

They did not need to be told twice. But John thought of Sherlock the whole way.

Oh that Sherlock Holmes indeed.


	2. Unruly, Rude and Amazing

**Chapter Two**

**Unruly, Rude and Amazing. **

Despite being a first year, by the end of the first month quite a lot of the school knew Sherlock Holmes. Having Mycroft as an elder brother didn't help matters much, but he could surely stand on his own. Though many were curious to see if the younger Holmes would turn out like his brother who gravitated respect.

On the Friday of the first week, his potion exploded causing the class to hurriedly duck out of the way. The boy stood, not appearing bashful at all but instead amongst an exploded potion and covered in the remnants of it, he fished a scroll out of his bag and started to write, glancing up when Slughorn walked over to him expectantly.

"Mr Holmes," he said surveying the mess of a potion, at least it hadn't exploded the cauldron itself just bubbled and sprayed over the boy and the benches either side of him. The rest of the class watched with the curiosity of people knowing someone was about to get into trouble. The Gryffindors grinning because surely this would lose Slytherin house points. The Slytherins were given their house mate disgruntled looks. The potion thankfully didn't seem to have any ill affects.

"I don't remember the ingredients for this potion including porcupine quills and feverfew," he stared sternly at the Slytherin boy, cleaning the mess with a wave of his wand.

Sherlock didn't even say he was sorry, or make a feeble excuse, he just shrugged and went back to scrawling on his parchment. Professor Slughorn docked points and gave him a detention, if he expected Sherlock to protest he would have been surprised, because the boy nodded, his eyes flickering to the teacher before back to what he was writing.

Rudeness of first years wasn't that acknowledged usually by the older years, a lot of kids had to be taken down a few pegs when they first started at Hogwarts, but (and John didn't see this but heard of it later from Mike who heard of it from a Hufflepuff girl named Molly Hooper), when he reduced Professor Turner to tears, during a class period he got the attention of the elder years.

Especially when the two Holmes brothers had an argument in the middle of the charms hallway, that was broken up by Professor Hudson, who told Sherlock to follow her and reminded Mycroft of an essay that he had due the next day.

Sulking Sherlock followed the Transfiguration Professor and Mycroft headed in the other direction, those who were clever gave the elder Holmes a wide berth for the rest of the day. Those who were clever gave Sherlock a wide berth always, leaving the boy well alone.

Or so John noticed in his classes with the Slytherins, or if he passed Sherlock in the halls. He was always alone, but he never seemed bothered by it, rather he seemed irritated when people forced their presence upon him.

He was disrespectful to the teachers, constantly making comments which were unwarranted. He had seemed to have taken a liking to Professor Hudson however, who good naturedly ignored his deductions in his class, or corrected them if they were slightly off. The rest of the staff didn't appreciate his constant prying comments.

And that was what brought most of the school's attention to Sherlock Holmes, when not even a full four weeks into the term he had found himself in the headmistresses office. It was almost unheard of for a first year to find their way there that early on in the year.

Like his brother he was making a name for himself, unlike his brother it wasn't quite as positive.

The unruly boy sat in a chair in the headmistresses office, his eyes scanning the room. Facts leaping out at him. He learnt that she was right handed, a morning person rather a night person, that she missed being in a classroom teaching.

The headmistress herself stared over her desk at the younger Holmes and Sherlock held her gaze once he had finished his observation of the office. He knew there was a lot missing as he hadn't quite fine-tuned his ability to deduce yet. But he could tell that she wasn't sure what she thought about the boy in front of her.

"Mr Holmes," she said finally, he was silent and she gave a tired sigh. Interesting, she didn't like this part of the job. He filed that away for later. "I've had numerous reports from your teachers about you."

"Obviously," he said under her breath.

Her eyes narrowed and he hid a smile. Short temper those Gryffindors, he thought staring at her innocently. "Your behaviour in your classes has to change," she said bluntly. "Nothing pardons rudeness to any of your Professors."

"Professor?" he said politely.

"Yes?" she asked, eyeing him warily, of course he wasn't going to smile and give in. Though if he did she would be more worried. Slytherins and their ulterior motives were an every present worry.

"There is no harm in pointing out truths is there?"

"What-"

"All I'm doing is telling the truth. Telling them things they already know. Such as, you prefer tea to coffee, tea leaves to bags, the reminder of the war still hangs around you are you are constantly ready to leap into a fight. You are keeping correspondence with a muggle, I'd say male," he leaned back in his chair and raised his eyebrow at the headmistress. "Your next question is going to be how. It always is," she gave a reluctant nod, her curiosity getting the better of her as he knew it would.

"Tea is easy, there are loose tea leaves scattered on the bench over there. That pot would be holding them," he gestured in the vague direction of it. "Maybe you use bags more and just once used tea leaves, doubtful. Usually it is the other way around. I've noticed you drink tea in the morning, if you are going to drink tea over coffee in the morning, you prefer tea. What was next?" he asked, his head titled to the side. There was an excited hitch in his voice, like there always was when he deducing. It was interesting, and telling people his thoughts helped uncrowd his mind.

"The war still present in your mind, ready for a fight. Your hand twitches towards where you keep your wand when you sense a threat, like when I entered the room without knocking. Because everyone who is meant to come, knocks," which was exactly why he hadn't knocked, to see her reaction towards it.

"And the muggle man, there is a letter on your desk, the handwriting says male," he leaned forward and tapped said letter that was sitting on her desk. "It's dated a week ago, and the envelope beside it has a stamp on it. It got sent through the muggle post and diverted here, added to the fact that it is written on paper and with a pen rather than parchment and ink," he gave a firm nod noting her surprised look. "The teachers didn't say what I was doing just that I was-"

"That is enough Mr Holmes," she cut across him.

He fell silent and leaned back in his chair once more, eyeing her, waiting for her reaction. Everyone reacted in different ways.

"Oh," she said watching him. "If only you had been here when Severus was teaching, he would have cherished a student like you in his house," she shook her head turning her thoughts away from the former head of Slytherin and head of Hogwarts.

Sherlock's eyes flickered to the portrait of said man, but it was empty. The other portraits however were watching him curiously, especially that of Dumbledore.

"The fact remains Mr Holmes, truth or not it can be seen as rude. Depending on what you say, or rather for just saying it. People don't like it when you know things, menial or not, about their live that they haven't told you."

"I've noticed that," he murmured, her stared at her. "People don't like other people knowing more than they do."

She nodded. "Well yes, but keep your observations to yourself Mr Holmes, or at least away from the teachers ears, and if possible, the teachers themselves."

"I can't turn it on and off like a tap," he muttered getting bored of the conversation and wanting to head back to the common room.

"Perhaps not, but learning to keep silent is an important lesson to learn. You are dismissed."

He nodded, and stood heading towards the door. "Oh, Professor," he said once he had reached the door.

"Yes Mr Holmes?"

"You might want to reply to that letter from the ministry, they won't wait forever for a reply," while she blinked he closed the door and headed down the small flight of stairs, his mind racing like always.

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Just a question, do you guys mind is the POV changes between John and Sherlock?

ps. reviews make me happy.


	3. An Outstretched Hand

**Chapter Three**

**An outstretched hand. **

Gryffindor house suited John Watson just fine, the people were friendly, the common room cosy, and it was always a nice feeling to step back inside the room, which was blatantly covered in the Gryffindor house colours. Harry Watson adored having her younger brother at Hogwarts with her and every now and again she sat herself down next to the first years and chattered to her brother before one of her friends pulled her away.

It was a contrasting experience to Sherlock's in Slytherin. Despite the houses protectiveness of their younger students it had apparently turned its back on the younger Holmes, not that Sherlock helped matters at all. If someone tried to be welcoming to him, they ended up leaving in frustration. He turned into the ghost in his own house, the other four boys in his dorm each partnered off. Mycroft watched his brother from a distance worried that he had ostracized himself amongst his own housemates. The two had hardly spoken since Professor Hudson had broken up their fight, and he knew that Sherlock would resent his elder brother trying to help, so he stayed silent and watched.

While John became popular mingling with others, he was friendly and cheery, traits which made him likeable. Sherlock despite being obnoxious in most of his classes became almost invisible to Hogwarts. They paid his antics and rudeness no mind, he was looking for attention they said, over shadowed by a prefect brother who was going places.

Everyone thought that Sherlock did not hear the words they said, how could he when he was so clearly wrapped up in his own world, never minding the views of everyone else. But perhaps what they should have noticed was that Sherlock Holmes noticed everything, including the way people acted towards him.

John noticed, because the Gryffindor boy had kept his eye on Sherlock. It was hard to ignore the aura that Sherlock projected, he was quick and clever and sometimes he shone with confidence.

He didn't say anything though, perhaps it was because over his time at Hogwarts the boy had developed a vicious tongue, causing a Hufflepuff girl that was just trying to be friendly, as that was what Hufflepuffs did, to run off crying. Hufflepuff did not take that kindly. Or the fact that the Gryffindors and Slytherins had an on-going feud, as seen when Anderson hexed Sally Donovan in the halls one day and ended up in detention.

It the end, he realised he was a Gryffindor and they were brave so he was going to go up and talk to Sherlock Holmes, who seemed to realise this decision right after John made it, because after transfiguration one day with purposeful slowness Sherlock packed up his books and waited for John to approach.

"What Carl started as their friend bundled his books into his bag and walked over to the curly haired boy.

"Go on," John said with a vague wave of his hand. "I'll see you in potions," the two boys nodded, frowned, gave their friend a quizzical look and left the room.

"Yes?" Sherlock asked, leaning back against the desk his eyes surveyed John, who wondered what he could read about him now.

"Hi," John said.

"Hello," Sherlock replied, his voice taking on an amused edge. Though John had no idea why. "What have you got to say John Watson, that dragged you from the safety of the lions to come and talk to me," he raised an eyebrow and shouldered his bag gesturing to John to leave the classroom.

"Afternoon professor Hudson," he called.

"Afternoon Mr Holmes," she replied as the duo left the room.

Sherlock waited expectantly for John to talk as they headed off to potions. But now that he was standing next to him John wasn't too sure what to say to the other. The fact that he hadn't been insulted yet was something, he supposed.

"You don't seem to have any friends," John said quite bluntly, though moments after he wanted to erase the words. But Sherlock didn't wince, like he thought or might.

He just simply snorted. "Yes," he said quite simply.

"Why not?"

"Surely Watson you can figure that out. Why don't I have any friends?" he stared straight at the boy who looked down at his feet awkwardly, refusing to answer. Sherlock gave an amused snort. "People do not get on well with me, and I do not get on well with people."

"Sounds lonely.

"Not really," he said with a shrug. "It beats dealing with idiotic people."

"Well not everyone is idiotic," the Gryffindor protested.

"Yes they are.

John narrowed his eyes. "What? Are you smarter than everyone else then?" Here he was thinking that perhaps there was a Slytherin who didn't think he was better than everybody else.

"Yes."

"Why does that not surprise me," he muttered, though actually it did, even though it shouldn't have. "Slytherins are notorious for thinking they are better than everyone else in the school."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, and his eyes brightened with a thought that John didn't quite catch. "And Gryffindors are notorious for finding insult in everything, and then, just being idiotic in general. I _am _smarter than the rest of the school." He watched John, rather like he was some sort of experiment.

"Well," John said starting to feel incredibly affronted. "Well then. That, would be why you have no friends." It wasn't the cleverest or wittiest thing he had ever said, and he almost regretted it the moment he said it. Especially when something in Sherlock's expression shifted. Once again, John couldn't quite understand what.

"Indeed it would," he said casually. "But I would think that Gryffindors of all people would not berate others for telling the truth. Guess you are the bunch of dishonest fools you try so very hard not to be." He was baiting John, not that he realised it, and John fell straight for it not understanding the reasons for why. What Sherlock was trying to see about this other boy.

"Arrogant git," he muttered staring at him. Whilst thinking that needed a lot more insulting vocabulary, because Sherlock looked simply amused rather than offended as John was going for.

He snorted. "And this is why I prefer to be on my own, rather than hang out with Gryffindors. Who take offence at everything," he quickened his pace and in a few strides he was ahead of John, leaving the Gryffindor to stew.

Said Gryffindor was still affronted when he flung down next to Carl, shooting Sherlock a disgruntled look as he did. Who paid him no mind, but was instead buried in his potions book.

Carl raised an eyebrow at his indignant friend. "What did he do this time?"

"Insulted me, and Gryffindor."

"He does that," Mike said. "He is very good at it actually. Why did you go and talk to him anyway?" he looked genuinely curious.

John shrugged, starting to wish that he hadn't. "He seemed lonely."

Mike snorted. "That is Sherlock for you. As you probably would have guessed, he works alone."

"I've noticed," John said with a glance at the board to see what potion they were making. "Well I won't be wasting time on him any longer."

"Good idea, I've known his family for years, though not as much recently. But he gets worse over time. Especially as he notices more." John shot the Slytherin another glance, who had already started on his potion.

He shoved his sympathetic thoughts out of his mind. Sherlock Holmes did not want friends, and that was that.

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Points if you realise what Sherlock was trying to do.


	4. The Beginning, the Book, and the Test

**Chapter Four**

**The beginning, the book and, the test.**

John Watson failed Sherlock's test, but that didn't surprise him, everybody failed his tests. And John Watson was no different, even if he had looked more promising than everyone else. It had however cemented Sherlock's belief that Gryffindors were easily angered, especially if you insulted their house.

But Hogwarts itself was enough to keep the young Slytherin occupied. There was enough mysteries in the castle walls to keep him interested. Until he had gotten bored with puzzling it out Hogwarts would not yet see a bored Sherlock Holmes. But that time was coming soon.

Sherlock was not the only one at Hogwarts testing people, someone was testing Sherlock.

First his potion book went missing, and it took all of ten minutes once he realised it was missing to demand it back from Anderson.

"I didn't steal your blasted book Holmes," he snapped, glowering at the other boy.

Other members of the house glanced up at the bickering first years, with half amused, half wary expressions.

Sherlock leapt at his bag and Anderson went to snatch at it, but Sherlock was faster and grabbed it. "Give me back my bag!" Sherlock ignored him, opening it and pulling out his potion book, before flinging the back at Anderson's feet.

"Leave my stuff alone," Sherlock snapped at him.

"I wouldn't touch your stuff you freak."

Sherlock stiffened at the word, and the curious bystanders saw the affect the word had on the first year. Anderson smirked triumphantly.

Sherlock turned, and potion book in hand he scampered out of the common room, ignoring his brother's call. "Sherlock-"

He was barely out of the common room and up the hall when the common room door opened again. It was Mycroft. "Sherlock-" he started again, calling out to his brother who ignored him and continued walking away. "Sherlock!" he said again, his voice firmer.

His brother spun quickly on his foot. "Leave in Mycroft," he snapped. He wanted to be left alone. Alone was good, he didn't have to deal with people like his brother or Anderson.

"Sherlock," he tried once more. He was worried, not that he would ever outwardly express such worry to his brother.

"Leave it!" Sherlock hissed at him. "Just leave it. Leave me alone!" he turned to leave once more.

"Don't let him get to you Sherlock," Mycroft called after him, as he headed away from the common room.

"No one is going to get to me Mycroft, ever. I can see that caring is not an advantage. And I am not going to let anyone get that advantage over me," with that he rounded the corner, his heart hammering in his ears.

* * *

The second instant was a second years cat going missing. No one found that surprising at all, animals sometimes disappeared for short periods of time around Hogwarts. Though the girl who owned the cat proclaimed that it had never run off before. Apparently said cat had been found locked in a room on the second floor.

The girl was talking to her friend in the common room, cradling the tabby cat in her arms. Sherlock who was doing charms homework overheard the conversation and leapt to his feet suddenly, startling the two girls.

"What room?" he asked her, she stared. "What room?" he asked her again.

The girl, cat in arm, glanced sideways at her friend, Kitty Riley who had found the cat. Kitty gave her friend a look that said 'well he's weird, what do you expect?' To shoo the boy away more than anything they told Sherlock what room it was, and he left the room in a hurry, bemused looks following him, his charms homework forgotten.

Sherlock ignored the looks he got as he hurried to the second floor, three months into his first year and he was starting to get bored, not that Hogwarts wasn't interesting. It certainly was, but the castle was missing something. Some sort of puzzle or mystery that wasn't a part of usual Hogwarts life.

There was nothing particularly strange about a missing cat, but a cat locked in a room rather than returned to its owner, that was when things started to become weird. At eleven years of age his idea on interesting was still in the lower numbers of the scale, and it wasn't as if he expected things to get any more mysterious. He wasn't at school with Harry Potter.

He nearly sent John Watson into the ground as he turned a corner, without an apology he continued, leaving the frowning Gryffindor behind him.

He reached the door, and the room and stopped outside of it. Eyes scanning the door. Locked in, the girl had said, not shut locked. He wondered if that was just a slip of the tongue or the girl had actually meant the door had been locked. He turned the handle and it was locked again, Sherlock frowned at it, the girl wouldn't have locked the door again. There was no need.

Warily he pulled out his hand, and unlocked the door with a mumbled spell. He heard lock click and holding his wand in his hand he opened the door to find an empty room. That was his first thought, but mere moments later he noticed an object sitting on the floor in the middle of the room.

A potions book.

His brows drew together in a deep frown, and carefully he stepped into the room holding his wand aloft. He picked up the book and flicked it open, to his immense surprise the name on the cover was in his handwriting. Sherlock Holmes. "What?" he muttered under his breath, glancing around the room. It was empty. Thinking back he wondered when he had had his potions book last, earlier that day in potions. But how had it ended up here?

His eyes scanned the walls, looking for a clue or anything. He saw nothing that pertained with his potion book, nor anything at all. The room was completely bare. It wasn't until later when he realised that the room had also shown no sign that there had ever been a cat stuck in the room for any length of time. The thought made him jolt upwards in his bed and grabbing his robe and wand he headed into the common room.

He wasn't heading back to the room, but he needed to think, and that was impossible in a room with another four sleeping boys snoring. He reached the common room and very nearly turned around and went right back to the dorm, considering Mycroft was sitting by the fire quill in hand writing something.

He glanced up at the sound of footsteps. "Ah, evening Sherlock," he said. As if it wasn't strange for Sherlock to be in his cloak and apparently about to go for a walk in the middle of the night.

"Evening Mycroft," he replied coolly. He had never gotten on well with his brother, and recent events had not improved that.

Mycroft frowned for a small moments, but was very quick at hiding it. "Come sit Sherlock," he said gesturing to the couch next to him. Sherlock hesitated before obliging and sitting down across from his brother, he tried to read the page upside down but Mycroft scooped it out of the way before he could even read a word. "It is a letter to Mummy," his brother explained.

"Then why can I not read it?" Sherlock protested.

"Because it is none of your business what I am writing Sherlock," he rolled up the parchment and put it in the bag at his feet, Sherlock's eyes followed it and he wondered if he could swipe it without the other boy knowing. Mycroft pushed the bag closer to him with his foot, reading Sherlock's intention in his face. He sighed, and Mycroft hid a smile.

"What do you want Mycroft?"

"To see how you are." Sherlock snorted, and raised an eyebrow. "And what is wrong with that brother?"

"Because you've never bothered about that before. Did mother put you up to this?" he glanced at his brother's bag once more.

"No Sherlock, it is not mother. I am just simply curious as to how you are finding being at Hogwarts."

The younger Holmes shrugged, eyeing the elder suspiciously. There was something else to it, he knew. Mycroft was never _simply curious_ he was always curious for a reason. "Fine."

"Is that all you have to say about Hogwarts?"

"Yes."

"No need to be surly brother, I am merely asking," the two locked gazes saying nothing for a few minutes before Mycroft smiled slightly. "I should be off to bed, as should you, but never mind that. Sleep when you will, because you won't sleep now if I tell you to," he gave Sherlock an amused look, who did not reply as Mycroft left the room, heading to his dorm.


	5. The Epitome of Evil is Group Work

**Chapter Five**

**The Epitome of Evil is Group Work**

Somebody was having fun constantly stealing Sherlock's potion book. He hissed in frustration upon reaching potions to find that once again it had disappeared out of his bag. Three times in the space of one week was enough. He scowled, and glanced around the potions room with narrowed eyes, trying to read people in their posture. No one was glancing at him, trying to hide a smirk at stealing his book, but that didn't mean it wasn't someone in the year.

Slughorn strolled past and stopped in front of his cauldron. "Why haven't you started Mr Holmes?" he asked.

"My books has gone mission Professor," he said.

Professor Slughorn frowned. "Perhaps pair up with a classmate for the lesson, until you can find your book."

Sherlock snorted. "That would be unwise," he said. His ability to deal with other people got even worse in potions, because they didn't seem to get the exactness of the science of potions.

Slughorn raised an eyebrow at the other boy. "Perhaps partnering off will do you some good Mr Holmes, the next assignment is going to be group work. You will not get through seven years at this school without learning how to work well with other people."

"I can try."

Professor Slughorn did look somewhat amused at the Slytherin as he shook his head. "Try all you like, but it won't stop teachers putting you into groups which you _must _work in, unless you want to fail the class."

"Why bother, it's not like anyone wants to work with me anyway, might as well save both of us the trouble."

The potions Professor stared at him for a few long moments. "You can work with Mr Watson for the period," and before Sherlock could even open his mouth to protest the Professor had walked off, over to the Gryffindor side of the room. Sherlock scowled. Moments later, John's eyes flickered over to him, and he sighed and nodded at the Professor.

John Watson of _all _people. Sherlock scowled again, grabbed his bag and flounced over next to the Gryffindor. He could have at least paired him up with someone in his own house, or any other Gryffindor. Though, it was a good chance to do some more observations.

John gave him a wary look as Professor Slughorn walked away, and a few other members of the class spared them curious looks. "What happened to your potion book then?" John asked, pushing an ingredient towards Sherlock to cut up.

"Someone stole it," Sherlock answered picking up the knife, and glancing at John's book to see how it stated it wanted to be cut.

John raised an eyebrow, sprinkling meadowsweet into the potion. "And how do you know you haven't just misplaced it?"

"When it goes missing for the third time in a week, the first time found in a classmates bag, the second in a random room on the second floor, I think it's pretty fair to say that it was stolen.

"Why would people steal your book?"

"Surely you don't need to ask that," he glanced away from what he was chopping to stare at John, who merely shrugged in response. He did know.

"Well how are you going to get it back then?"

Sherlock tipped the ingredient into the potion, and took the spoon off of John. "I'll find it," and he said no more on the matter. A few minutes later, he grabbed onto John's hand before the Gryffindor could tip a handful of linch seeds into the potion.

"What? The potions says to."

"Don't just tip the whole lot in you idiot, do you want to completely ruin the potion? Add them slowly."

"The book says-"

"Slowly tip, yes that doesn't mean tip them all in at once very slowly. You do it a little bit at a time," his tone said that clearly this should be very obvious, and maybe it was to Sherlock, but most of the rest of the class was tipping the whole handful in at once.

He listened to Sherlock though. Though Sherlock could tell he didn't appreciate being called an idiot over it. "Do I need to pour this in a drop at time too?" John asked testily holding up a small vial of some type of oil.

"Suit yourself," Sherlock replied not glancing away from the broomtop that he was chopping up. John was about to tip it straight in when Sherlock continued. "Though you might want to read what the instructions says to do."

"And what _does _that instructions say to do?"

"Mix it in the motar with broomtop then add both of them at once," he said still not glancing up. John checked, and sure enough it said exactly that. He frowned, wondering why he hadn't noticed that before.

"Because you're an idiot."

"Excuse me?" he said, turning sharply to Sherlock who scooped the broomtop into the motar, and waited for John to add the oil.

"You were wondering why you hadn't noticed it said to do that, I answered for you. Now are you going to add the oil? Or are you just going to glower at me. Because if you are going to do the later, can I have the oil?" he raised an eyebrow. John scowled, and roughly passed the bottle to Sherlock.

"Should I just sit and watch then?" he grumbled carefully reading the next line of instruction.

"If you'd like," Sherlock said pleasantly, but not really. "It would make things a lot easier."

John made a disgruntled noise, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Fine," he said testily. "Do it yourself."

"With pleasure," and paying no attention to John for the rest of the lesson, that John could see at least, Sherlock was always paying attention to everyone, he finished the potion. While the stewing Gryffindor turned and helped Mike with his potion.

* * *

Sherlock found his potions book in the same classroom on the second floor.

* * *

True to Slughorn's word the next class he announced to class wide groans that it would be a group task. As friends glanced at each other out of the corners of their eyes he even more cheerily announced that he would chose the groups.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Mycroft had mentioned before, that every now and again teachers had a 'let's try and make all the different houses friends' thing happening and made everybody do group tasks, and pair them off with someone they hated.

The class grumbled, group tasks never worked in favour of anybody if the teacher was choosing. And so with enthusiasm the students thought should be illegal he partnered the class off. John Watson got Sebastian Wilkes, one of the other boys in Sherlock's dorm.

Sherlock got paired off with a Gryffindor girl named Sally Donnovan, whom Sherlock had never said three words to in his life. Though he knew her parents were divorced and her mother worked in a shop in diagon ally.

As seemed customary when people were forced into the presence of Sherlock Holmes, they gave him a disgruntled look and tried to ignore the fact that he looked as if he was reading a rather boring science book, that had a puzzle in the middle of it for some unearthly reason.

"Let's get this started then, I'd rather not be in your presence for any longer than I have to Holmes."

"Likewise Donnovan."

"You don't like being in anyone's company," the girl muttered grabbing her potions book out of her bag. He fished his out, and opened it to the page of the potion they were making.

Sherlock did not reply, but gave a huff of annoyance under his breath at being paired with the girl.

It was a long lesson.

By this point, the school and especially Slughorn should have realised that pairing the Gryffindors and Slytherins up for potions was about as stupid of an idea as getting students to look after blast ended skrewts. It just ended badly.

Anderson and Carl spent the period bickering, too busy taking jabs at each other to realise they were adding the wrong thing to their potion half of the time. It was no surprise to Sherlock when he glanced up to see Carl exclaiming their potion had congealed. That is what happened when you added the nightshade and shallot in the wrong order.

Rather like with John, Sherlock had to continuously stop Donnovan from putting the ingredients in the wrong half. Most of the time she was doing it as the instructions suggested, but Sherlock disagreed with them sometimes which frustrated the girl to no end. She also went to turn the spoon in the wrong direction and quick as ever Sherlock grabbed her wrist.

"Wrong way," he hissed.

"Like it makes any difference!" she exclaimed.

"The direction of the stir makes _all _the difference," he said with an exasperated tone. "An eight year old should know that."

"Well I'm sorry mister I'm better at everything then everyone else."

Their bickering went unnoticed, because most of the class was doing the same thing. At the front Slughorn looked as he usually did half way through the paired exercise every year, like he was regretting it. Not that it stopped him from trying again the next year, hoping the students would act differently.

Sherlock let go of her wrist. "Clockwise stirs," he said grabbing the thyme and chopping it up into tiny bits.

She hissed, but obliged, because part of her knew that the direction of stirring did affect the overall result.

It was a relief to the whole class when the bell rang, though none were pleased when they heard that the potion would be continued and finished in the next class. They hurried out of the room, bumping into their friends to exclaim in frustration under their breath about the idiots they had been paired off with.

Well, Sherlock didn't, but the rest of the class did. As he was leaving he did hear Sally Donovan say his name with a collection of other words that were not complimentary in the least.

He ignored it. Like he always did.

* * *

Because doesn't everyone hate group tasks?

And I know people are reading this, so if you'd like to make my day, feel free to review.


	6. Blame the Innocent

**Chapter Six**

**Blame the Innocent**

The group potions task was an absolute disaster, though John had to admit Sebastian Wilkes wasn't that bad, he could have been stuck with Anderson or Sherlock. Sebastian at least had a vague idea what he was doing, without being obnoxious about it like Sherlock. And John was pretty pleased with how their potion ended up, especially when he considered Carl's blob of a potion that certainly wouldn't do as it was meant to.

From Slughorn's expression, John guessed that he wouldn't be trying that again, as he shooed them out of the classroom at the end of the second class and surveyed the room. Glad to have the bickering mass of first years away from him.

John caught up with Carl halfway up the hall, and fell into step beside him. "That," Carl sighed. "Was a disaster," and John couldn't help but agree. Behind them Donnovan was complaining about Sherlock, though surely the Holmes could hear her as he was almost walking in line with John, who glanced out of the corner of his eye at the Slytherin who rolled his eyes.

"It may have escaped your notice Donnovan, you _are _as blind as a bat. As seen when you went to add the asphodel instead of the aconite which would have blown the whole thing up in our faces. But I am right in front of you and _can _hear you." John winced, because he had nearly done the same thing.

The Gryffindor flushed. "That was the point," she said, although it was clear that it hadn't really been.

He turned so that he was facing her as he continued to walk backwards. John privately hoped he'd stumble and make a fool of himself, as the boy seemed so opposed to doing. "Don't take your insecurities out of me."

"I'm not insecure!" she protested.

"It's not my fault your parents and divorced, and you _clearly _have daddy issues," he spun and strolled off up the hall leaving a spluttering Gryffindor and curious looks. John and Carl exchanged glances and shrugged.

"Freak!" Sally shouted up the hall after Sherlock.

The Slytherin's who had been in the common room when Anderson had said the same thing, waited to see if his reaction would be the same. But he didn't even acknowledge the insult and just kept walking.

* * *

It seemed however that they hadn't had enough drama for the day, because when they reached the great hall they found that Sherlock had accosted a second year Slytherin. Demanding his potions book back that had yet again disappeared.

"I don't have your book," she exclaimed, eyeing the boy warily.

"Yes," Sherlock said simply, as if there was absolutely no doubt in the matter. "You do."

"Oh here we go again," Anderson muttered a few people down from John. John was wondering how the book seemed to keep disappearing under Sherlock's nose, he would have thought after the first few times he'd pay more attention to it. He also wondered what they were getting out of stealing his book. Especially when he seemed to figure out who had stolen it and get it back.

"I do not," she protested. "Check my bag if you must."

He did, and to everyone's surprise –as there was quite a group watching by now- including Kitty Riley, Sherlock fished out his potions book and held it triumphantly in her face.

"What…?" she said weakly, her expression very confused. "I didn't-" she protested.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Then who?" he snapped, though it seemed to John that it was more to himself than the befuddled girl.

She shook her head. "I-" she started, but Sherlock had already walked off, frowning deeply, though there was something in his expressions. He didn't look pissed off like John expected he would, after having his book stolen for the half a dozenth time. He looked interested, like there was a puzzle for him to work out.

"He seems to lose that book a lot," murmured a Slytherin boy next to John. John glanced at him, he wasn't too sure who the boy was. He thought his last name started with a M? Or an N. He was in his year, he knew that much. The boy noticed John's look and smiled. "Jim Moriarty, hi!"

"John Watson," John replied.

"Yes." John frowned, reminded of Sherlock in that moment, but the boy grinned cheerily at him. An expression that John had certainly never seen on Sherlock's face. "Hi John," he said as if he hadn't said anything before that. "Come on Seb," he said to another boy next to him, it seemed that Slytherin had two Sebastians in the one year, and the two Slytherins walked off.

Carl glanced at John who merely shrugged.

* * *

Christmas came and went.

John and Harriet went back home for the break, and their mother was pleased to see them. John in a way was glad to be back home, Hogwarts was amazing, but it was nice to sit in the sitting room and have stationary paintings staring back at him, to not have to pay attention to every other stair as he went up the staircase. To be with his mother again, and to talk more with Harry.

That had drifted slightly from the beginning of the year, but that was to be expected he supposed.

He bade his mother goodbye at the station, and went to find Mike and Carl. He passed the Holmes family, Mycroft was talking to his mother, whilst Sherlock stood there, tried to sneak away and was called back before he went five paces.

John smirked, and entered the train.

He found Mike and Carl, and it was seemingly going to be an uneventful train ride, until at one point when the three boys were playing a game of exploding snap they heard a scream coming from down the carriage.

"What-" Mike started, as their heads spun to the door.

John leapt to his feet, and yanked the door open, hurrying into the hall. He could still hear the sound of hysteric screaming, as he went down the hall to investigate in front of him a door opened and Sherlock came out. His eyes wide and alert, he had his wand in his hand.

He saw John, acknowledge him with an inclination of his head and faster than John could, as the hallway was now filling up as people heard the sound, he slid between the people and John just about pushed through them.

It seemed the hysteric girl was in a compartment, and forcing his way to the front amongst disgruntled noises at the nerve of a first year he saw a fifth year Gryffindor sitting in the middle of the compartment, she was the one making the hysteric noises, but lying on the ground beside her was Jennifer Wilson, the fifth year Gryffindor prefect.

* * *

Cliffhanger! (of sorts)


	7. In Her Pocket Bright Eyes

**Chapter Seven**

**In her pocket bright eyes**

John stared at the body, his mouth half opened. He tried to comprehend what had happened, and the only conclusion he got was the rather vague, that it was something bad. Who had attacked a student? And why?

Sherlock darted forward, into the compartment, right behind him seemingly out of no where was Mycroft. As the rest of the school clustered in the hallway peering over shoulders.

Mycroft went for the body, crouching down beside the girl. "Get a teacher," he snapped. No-one moved. "Get a teacher!"

"They don't take the train," a girl protested.

Mycroft sighed. "Some of them do. Up the front. They aren't going to leave a bunch of children on their own in case something happens. _Get a teacher." _ There were two years who had more authority than Mycroft, but no one refuted his authority and a Ravenclaw prefect hurried off. Another student, presumably a friend pulled the hysteric girl away from her friend.

John's attention however was on Sherlock, who meanwhile had entered the compartment and scooped a furled piece of paper off of the ground. He unrolled the paper and his eyebrows drew together, puzzled.

Five seconds later his puzzlement disappeared to the expression of a person having figured something out.

His eyes flickered to Mycroft, and once he was occupied with making sure the girl was alive, his hand darted to her coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper which he stuffed into his pocket. John narrowed his eyes.

"Get out Sherlock," Mycroft said glancing up at his younger brother. "Out Sherlock," he snapped before the boy could protest.

Sherlock's eyes swept the room, before he left right in time for the Ravenclaw prefect and Professor Turner and the astronomy professor, people pushed themselves to the wall as they passed. Sherlock slinked off down the hall apparently no longer interested. John frowned, warring between going after him and watching to see what happened.

His curiosity getting the better of him, he followed Sherlock. He wouldn't get another chance to accost him, not with how good he was at disappearing when he didn't want to talk. And he could find out what happened to Jennifer later anyway. The staff would also try to shoo the students away from the compartment anyway, they wouldn't want an audience.

So he followed Sherlock, finding the boy in his compartment reading a book. John frowned, wouldn't he be reading whatever he took out of the pocket? He'd seemed interested in it at the time.

"Yes Watson?" Sherlock asked without glancing up from his book once John pulled open the door, he almost went to how _how? _But it was Sherlock, how was always a silly question to ask him.

"You took something out of Jennifer's pocket," John said quite bluntly.

"Yes," his eyes flickered lazily up from his book. A potions one it seemed. John hoped there wouldn't be any more exploding cauldrons. There had been enough of those in the first half of the year.

"Why?"

"Why not?"

John sighed. "What did the other piece of paper say, you looked confused originally."

The Slytherin raised his eyebrow, placing the book down next to him. "Watching me now are we?" John flushed, and Sherlock smirked. "It was a note, the letters and words had all be jumbled and I had to un jumble it to read it. It led to the next note in her pocket."

"You unjumbled it that quickly?"

Sherlock got the furled piece of paper and passed it to John. "It wasn't that hard," he said dismissively as John stared at it. It was a jumbled mass of letters that he couldn't make heads of tails out of. "Got it?" Sherlock asked, John shook his head, and received a huff of frustration. "It directs you to another note in her pocket," he pulled the slip out of his hand.

"What did the other note say?"

"I don't know."

"Why not?"

"I haven't read it yet."

"Why not?" he asked again.

"Because I knew you'd follow, and I'd like to be able to think once I read it. Rather than chatter with you."

John opened his mouth indignantly, but wasn't too sure what he was going to say so he shut it again.

"Who left the note?"

"The person that attacked her. _Obviously._"

"Obviously," John muttered. Maybe it should have been, he felt like he should notice everything when around Sherlock. But just because Sherlock could, didn't mean everyone else understood things as quickly as him.

"Well it should be," Sherlock said, sitting back down. "It also means that attacking her wasn't because he was attacking _her. _It had a higher reason."

"Which is?" He was full of questions, and was rather disappointed when the Slytherin just shrugged, he had no idea. Well why not? John wanted to ask, but he had no idea either so the question would be quite unfair. Sherlock couldn't know _everything. _

The two were silent for a few moments, Sherlock just watching him, which John found unnerving despite the fact that Sherlock did it to everyone. "Err well," he said awkwardly. "I'll be off."

"Yes."

John frowned. "Why do you always say yes when I make statements? You answer questions with yes."

"You can also answer really obvious statements with yes," the boy said picking up his book and going back to reading it. Though somehow John was still sure that Sherlock was aware of every moment he was making.

He stood there for a few more moments, before he gave an awkward shrug and walked out.

* * *

When they reached the school an assembly was called in the great hall, considering it was quite rare for these, everyone knew that it would be about Jennifer Wilson. Because even those who hadn't been there had heard it from their friends who had heard it from someone else who had been there.

McGonagall stood at the front of the school looking grave, she waited until everyone was silent before she started to talk. "Miss Wilson has been moved to st Mungo's," she started by saying and a collective relief spread over the hall. She wasn't dead. "However, the staff will be treating this with great importance, and will be looking into who attacked Miss Wilson, as it was an attack. If you know anything about it, we urge you to speak up," John thought that she suddenly looked very old and worn out. Attacks of the students would affect the teachers greatly.

Once they were dismissed John sought out Sherlock, reaching him before he escaped the hall. He titled his head at the Gryffindor boy, and there was a mocking hint to it, which John ignored.

"You need to tell them about that note," John said, and Sherlock sighed loudly.

"You do! It could be important."

"It _is _important."

"So tell them!" John was failing to see the logic in it being important and not being told to the teachers. "You heard her, if you have any information regarding it…"

"Watson, if you are going to nag you can go away."

"You should tell them," he said stoutly.

"Oh course the righteous Gryffindor would think so, but no. This note will not help them in any way, it will however help me."

"Help you do _what._"

"Find who did it."

John stared at him as they exited the hall. "So it won't help the teachers any, but you think that you, as a first year, can figure it out and do it all yourself?" he raised an eyebrow, his tone obviously disbelieving.

"Indeed I do Watson, and as I said. If you are going to nag, _leave._"

"I'll tell the teachers," he said, ignoring the second half of Sherlock's statement. "They deserve to know this information Holmes, it could help them find who attacked Jennifer."

It was Sherlock's turn to raise an eyebrow. "And if you tell them, their logical jump will be that I did it, because I am withholding evidence."

"So tell them."

Sherlock snorted. "No, they will muddle it all up. And keep me out of it."

"Why do you even _want _to be part of it?"

"Because it's _interesting._" He walked off, ignoring John's calling after him. Despite his threats he did not however go speak to Professor McGonagall but rather he headed back to Gryffindor tower with a frown.

* * *

I think you should review, because reviews will make me happy, and I'll write more. It's a win/win.


	8. Passing Notes Like Lovesick Teenagers

**Chapter Eight**

**Passing Notes Like Lovesick Teenagers**

_Clever of you to find this note. Though finding it and being told where it is are two different things, but I suppose you unravelled the puzzle hmmm. She's dying, the Gryffindor girl. And I doubt they'll find a cure. You might though, if you are lucky. But you wouldn't believe in luck would you Sherlock Holmes?_

_-RB_

Sherlock already had the note committed to memory but he glanced at it once more. RB. Who was RB? He ran through a mental catalogue of names, trying to connect initials with names, but nothing jumped out at him. He'd just have to pay more attention to the people, see if any names matched.

There had been a reason he hadn't wanted to show the note to the teacher, and that reason was that his name was on the note. If the teachers had an ounce of intelligence they would know Sherlock had something to do with it, even if he didn't. Not yet.

He stuffed the note into his pocket and went to find his brother, sometimes he had to swallow his pride and get Mycoft's help, and whilst he avoided it as much as possible he wanted information. And Mycroft would have it.

Mycroft to his credit didn't look that surprised that Sherlock had sought him out, he probably through that Sherlock would, he knew how curious Sherlock was. "I can't tell you anything Sherlock," he said before Sherlock said a word, glancing up from the book he was reading by the fire.

"Why not?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft sighed, stood, and gestured for Sherlock to follow him. The duo left the common room and Mycroft answered his question. "Because it is not your business Sherlock," he said as they walked through the halls. "And because I doubt the teachers would be pleased with you interfering."

"I could help," he protested.

Mycroft looked very doubtful and it made Sherlock scowl. "Just because I'm younger doesn't mean I can't help. I'm as quick as you are you know, and considering I'm younger I'll be quicker then you are when I am your age." They were quite evenly matched, even if Mycroft had more knowledge.

"The teachers can handle it Sherlock, they'll find out what happened to the girl. Don't you worry about it. Though I know how much you like puzzles," he frowned deeply eyeing the eleven year old. "Keep out of it," he warned him.

Sherlock scowled. "Just tell me what you know already, and I won't bother you any more about it," he compromised.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, evidently doubting whether Sherlock would keep to his half of the deal. "Fine," he said shortly, as they turned away from two upcoming fourth years. "Mungo's are having difficulty finding the cause, she is stable at the moment, but seems to be getting worse rather than better. Her friend went off to the bathroom and she was fine, come back and she was lying on the ground hardly breathing. She had the residue of something on her finger tips, but whatever was left wasn't enough to figure out what it was."

"What do Mungo's think happen?" Sherlock asked. "Did she seem stressed out before her friend left?"

"You want to know whether we think it was a suicide attempt don't you?" Mycroft asked. It amused Sherlock, because once more Mycroft was only a fifth year but he seemed to hold an awful amount of authority. What _we _thought it was.

He nodded, and Mycroft actually shrugged. "It is possible, it doesn't look as if she was forced to take anything. But we also don't know if she did. It might have been, but her friend said she was fine, happy as usual. So that doesn't add up."

"She could be faking," Sherlock pointed out.

"She could be," Mycroft agreed. "We do not know. And that is all I know right now Sherlock, and it is all you will now," he gazed sternly at his younger brother, but after a few moments he smiled. "Go and see what you can make of it then, to keep your mind occupied, instead of blowing up cauldrons."

* * *

_Talking to the elder brother. Well. It works I guess._

_-RB_

Sherlock found the note when he opened his potion book later that evening. He frowned, it was _always _his potions book. He wondered what the fascination of stealing his potions book was. He turned his attention to the page that the note had come out of, a potion to help people fall asleep easier.

He frowned deeply, staring down at the page. It was a clue surely, or just coincidence, but the latter was doubtful. Obviously it wasn't the potion, because Jennifer would have already woken up, and the St Mungo's people would certainly know what it was, but it had something to do with it.

He turned the paper over and scrawled on the back.

_Any more clues for me?_

_-SH_

Heading up to the second floor, he placed it on the ground in the room he had originally found the book.

* * *

When he returned the next day, a book was sitting where he had left the note. Picking it up he found it was a book of Muggle Fairy tales. Raising his eyebrows he flicked through the book until he reached where another note was slotted in.

_Surely you should find clues without me having to play the devil's advocate. By the way, it is not me who attacked her. If you'll believe that._

_-RB_

He glanced at the title of the chapter, _Snow White. _ Frowned, and started to read.

She had eaten something then, that he was sure. Whatever it was it was synonymous with the poison apple in the story. That was what he gauged was the important part in the story. What had she eaten?

He glanced at the note again, they didn't attack her. Then what was their note doing in her pocket, what are they doing now. He was sure the note writer had something to do with it.

_What is your role then? Muggle fairy tales _interesting_._

_-SH_

He placed the note on the floor. Was the note writer Muggle born? That made sense for knowing about muggle fairy tales. He left the room and headed down to the common room trying to puzzle it through. She was poisoned, eaten or drunk something, how did that help him?

* * *

_Curious bystander. I want to see if you figure it out._

_-RB_

_Why?_

_-SH_

_Curious._

_-RB_

You sound like me, Sherlock wanted to write. But he didn't. There was always a new note when Sherlock went to check, and he was starting to think he needed some sort of magical recording device, to see who came and went through that room. Or just wait until someone went past.

_Curiosity killed the cat._

_-SH_

_So I'm not the only one versed in Muggle ways am I Sherlock Holmes? But if curiosity killed the cat, you better watch your step also. _


	9. Fairy Tales and Gryffindors

**Chapter Nine**

**Fairytales and Gryffindors**

"The answer is no," Sherlock said, before John even had time to open his mouth. The Gryffindor blinked in surprise, though really he shouldn't have. He was starting to think that Sherlock could read minds and just said that he figured things out by watching people. John wouldn't put it past him. "I can only think of one reasons why you would be coming up to talk to me, and from there comes two questions. Have you told the Headmistress? Will you tell the headmistress? Which the answer to both is no, and you certainly didn't come over for a chat." Sherlock gave him a pointed look, because nobody came to talk to him for a chat.

Class had ended, and the students had just left the potions classroom, after classes seemed to be the only time John could catch Sherlock. He frowned, as either of those questions was going to be the one that he asked. "Well why not?" he asked.

"I've answered this," he replied tiredly, glancing at John as they walked up the stairs into the entrance hall.

"Well you need more of a reason then 'they will stuff it up'," John protested. "Sure you're clever, but not as much as all the teachers are. You can't deny they might be able to figure something out that you can't. There's something else to it."

Sherlock sighed loudly, stopped walking and turned to face John. "Why are you so stubborn about this anyway?" he asked irritably. "It's not like it concerns you any."

"It doesn't concern you," John retorted.

"It's interesting, I like puzzles," he said with a nonchalant shrug, watching John carefully.

"Someone in my house was attacked Holmes, I don't want anyone else to be."

"The righteousness of the Gryffindors."

"There is nothing wrong with that."

"Of course not," Sherlock mused.

John frowned, he could tell that Sherlock was mocking him, but knew that rising to the bait would get him no where. He had a higher purpose at hand here. The attack on Jennifer had made the students wary, and whilst not many people seemed to talk about it as much you could see it in the actions of the students. How they went off in pairs instead of solo. The upper levels of Gryffindor were hit the hardest, it had been their housemate and friend attacked.

"Tell me at least, what it said."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "So you can run along and tell the teachers? I may as well just go show them the note. This conversation is going in circles, goodbye," he said abruptly, but when he went to leave John grabbed onto his hand to stop him leaving.

Sherlock jumped violently, and yanked his arm back, turning back to face John, who dropped his arm quickly. He almost wanted to take a step back but didn't staring straight back at the boy. Sherlock stood there for a few moments before he gave a sharp nod and left.

* * *

"What do you know about Snow White?"

John jumped in his chair, and glanced up seeing Sherlock casually leaning against a bookshelf like he had been there for ages. For all John knew he could have been. He blinked in confusion. "Snow White…?" he asked slowly, wondering why he wanted to know about Snow White.

"Yes Snow White, it's a muggle fairy tell."

"I know what it is," John said with the irritableness that comes with when people presume you don't know something. After all, he was the muggle born out of the two of them. If anyone knew what muggle fairy tales were, he would. He had grown up with them.

"Well then, what do you know about Snow White?"

John sensed he wasn't going to get any of his homework done until the Slytherin had left, so he shut his book and glanced at up him. "Why do you want to know anyway?"

"Curious," was Sherlock's answer, and he elaborated no further.

John crossed his arms over his chest. It had something to do with the attack on Jennifer he knew. "I want a reason," he said. "Or I won't say anything." And he would not budge from that, for all the comments that Sherlock made about Gryffindors he would about to see how stubborn they were.

"Being curious is reason enough."

"No it's not," John answered with a shake of his head. "Why does a pureblood care one bit about muggle fairy tales? Not for entertainment surely, you aren't the type to read fairy tales for amusement, much less get someone else to retell them to you. What is your reason?"

Sherlock looked pleased, though for what reason John had no idea, especially as his answer was as unhelpful as his earlier one had been. He wasn't going to tell John, because he simply didn't want to.

"Well then," John answered picking up his book again. "You can go find out about Snow White on your own."

The Slytherin let out a huff of annoyance. "I have," he said. "I've read the libraries copy of it. But I'm sure there is more to the story than I am seeing in it. So I want a second opinion."

It was John's turn to raise an eyebrow. "And you come to talk to me?"

"You're muggle born, you grew up as a muggle," Sherlock shrugged. "It's a muggle story."

"This school is full of muggle borns," John pointed out, trying to figure out if Sherlock had a problem with people of a lesser blood status. He wasn't sure, considering that Sherlock had a problem with people in general, pure blood or not.

"None of which can stand talking to me for half a minute," Sherlock pointed out. "You last for a bit longer, if just," he tacked of at the end of it. He paused for a few moments. "What about this," he answered pulling up a chair and sitting down across from John. "If you give me information I deem useful, I'll tell you why I want to know about Snow White."

John frowned, thinking it over, and decided it was as good of a compromise that he was going to get. Sherlock had to be sure he was going to get something out of it, he was a Slytherin after all. He nodded, and Sherlock smiled triumphantly. "Alright," he said tapping his fingers on the table. "Snow White. Let's see what I remember, it has been a long time since I read the tale mind. Her mother was a Queen, who wished she had a daughter with snow white skin, red lips, and black hair. Which Snow White has, soon after her birth the mother died. Later on the King remarried a vain woman, who had a mirror she constantly asked who was the fairest, or prettiest. And the mirror always answered that she was. At one stage when Snow White was older the mirror answered that Snow White was."

He was well aware of Sherlock watching him with rapt attention, but tried to ignore it as he tried to remember the story. It had been years since he had heard it last, he hadn't paid much attention to fairy tales as he grew older. "…And the prince comes, and for some reason he falls in love with Snow White, even though they all think she is dead at this point," he gave a shrug to show that he didn't understand it either. "And he kisses her, and she wakes up. Though, I think in an earlier version the Prince's men carried her away, and they stumbled, and their stumbling caused the apple to dislodge in her throat and that is why she woke up."

He glanced up at Sherlock, who was thinking deeply. He shot to his feet suddenly, John thought that all he was missing was the exclamation of 'aha!' "Oh no you don't," John muttered as Sherlock was about to scamper off. "You've figured something out. So spill," he shoved his books unceremoniously into his school bag and followed Sherlock out of the library, who sighed.

"Fine, the attacker left another note, inside a book of muggle fairy tales. It was slotted in where the chapter of Snow White started."

John frowned. "How did you find this note then?" Sherlock wouldn't have just been looking through random books and having found it. That was too random.

"Oh, I found it where my potions book keeps disappearing too."

"So the attacker is the one that keeps taking your potions book?" That didn't seem to click with John, why continuously steal a first years' potion book, and also attack another student. They didn't seem like actions which were interlinked.

"Nope. The person that is leaving notes is the one stealing my potions book, the attacker is someone else."

"…the attacker isn't leaving the notes…?"

"No."

"And you know this how…?"

"The note writer told me."

John stared. "And you _believed _them?" For someone so clever, it seemed like an idiotic thing to do. Accept the word of a thief and potential attacker. He continued to stare in disbelief and Sherlock gave him an amused look.

"He's telling the truth. Nothing comes out of lying about that. Except to get me trying to chase after two people. Which I won't do. I'll treat all the evidence in one lot, but if things don't click than the fact that there are two people with two different motives will help it to make more sense."

"Well, what are you going to go do now? You just got some sort of idea."

"I am going to write a letter, either to St. Mungo's or the letter writer, haven't decided which yet."

"About what?"

"Miss Jennifer Wilson has something stuck in her throat."

* * *

It's exam season, so busybusybusy.

Review would be nice.


	10. Out of Bed Out of Hours

**Chapter Ten**

**Out of Bed Out of Hours**

Sherlock hadn't ended up sending a letter to either the letter writer or St Mungo's, he had been about to when it occurred to the boy that he didn't know exactly what the Wilson girl was suffering from. He presumed it was something caught in her throat, but the hospital would have made sure that her airway wasn't blocked. He presumed it would be something that they checked early.

So he was in the library once more, attempting to find a suitable book full of magical ingredients, poisonous or otherwise. His fingers trailed along the edges of the books as he walked down the row, before pulling out an encyclopaedia of magical ingredients.

Holding the book in the crook of his elbow he grabbed another few books, and went to find a table, passing Jim Moriarty as he did. The other boy glanced away from the shelves that he was scouring for a book, and towards Sherlock. "Holmes," he said politely.

"Moriarty," Sherlock returned with a quick glance. Despite sharing a dorm with them, Sherlock did his best not to say a word to any of the Slytherin boys in his year. Especially Anderson. That suited his dorm mates just fine.

There was a pause, and the two continued on their way. Sherlock found a table and sat down at it, placing his books on a pile. Pulling the first one towards him, he wondered what the easiest way to go around this was. He couldn't read the book from start to end to see if it came up. That would take too much time.

Flipping to the contents, he found where the section of poisonous or dangerous ingredients started and thumbed to it.

The librarian had to come and kick him out of the library before curfew. With a nod and a muffled yawn the boy bundled the left over books into his arm and made his way back to the common room.

Luck struck him at one in the morning, when the common room was completely empty except for one Sherlock Holmes, flipping through pages his eyes scanning looking for clues. He was on the last book he had checked out when he found it.

_Torpet puluere_

_An ingredient commonly used in medical potions. It is a solid white powder in its purest form. Mixed in with other ingredients* it numbs a certain part of the body to stop the patient feeling pain. When mixed with plain water it paralyses the body but only for a few hours._

"It doesn't say anything about it in a solid on it's own," Sherlock muttered under his breath, pulling back the discarded books and turning to the index. None of them had any mention of this ingredient. He huffed, and glanced at his watch. Having been unaware of the time he was surprised to find that it was one in the morning. He frowned and shrugged, grabbing his wand and heading back towards the library.

* * *

Starting to think it would be easier if he could turn invisible he ducked behind a suit of armour as footsteps approached. Being caught out of bed at one in the morning would complicate matters.

It was a third year Hufflepuff who looked jumpy and wary, heading back to the direction of the Hufflepuff dorms. Been off visiting friends in another house, Sherlock presumed. He stayed where he was for a few minutes after the Hufflepuff boy had passed before he slipped out of his hiding spot and continued towards the library.

He reached the library without noticing anyone else walking the hallways and slipped inside, carefully shutting the door behind him. Somehow the library seemed quieter than it had in the hallways, it was the kind of quiet that made you nervous, but only because you knew you were doing the wrong thing.

He headed back to the section of the library he had been in earlier that day, his wand aloft and alight. Lumos was a spell he had known before he had even gotten his Hogwarts letter.

Pulling books off of the shelf he thumbed to the index, looking for mentions of torpet puluere. He nervously glanced over his shoulder a few times, despite his nonchalant attitude about getting into trouble, questions would be asked about him being in the library after hours.

The fifth book he pulled off the shelf it was mentioned in the index, flicking to the page listed he found the mention of it, and scoured it to see if it had any information on the ingredient in its solid form.

There was a sentence.

_If ingested in solid form, torpet pulere can get caught in the throat, which immobilises the victim until it is washed down with a liquid, then the affects of it mixed with water linger, the victim stays immobilised for a few more hours._

"Aha," Sherlock muttered triumphantly, he glanced at the book to read the title and author and shoved it back onto the shelf. He picked up his wand and hurried out of the library, extinguishing it as he went.

* * *

Sherlock came to a sudden halt when he reached the entrance hall, as lying on the ground on a heap at the bottom of the stairs was a Hufflepuff boy, the one who had passed Sherlock in the shadows on the way to the library. He hurried down the stairs, pulling out his wand as he did. He lit it and glanced around, he could see no one else around. Bobbing down next to the boy, he placed his lit wand on the floor and reached for a pulse, scanning the body as he did.

A voice disturbed him and Sherlock jumped in spite of himself. At the top of the stair case stood Professor Turner, who hurried down the stairs. "Mr Holmes," she started before she caught site of the Hufflepuff boy and froze. "Explain yourself," she exclaimed at Sherlock, eyes wide.

"I found him like that Professor," Sherlock protested.

"It's two in the morning Mr Holmes," she said levitating the boy, as if it being two in the morning was the only evidence needed to convict him. She gave Sherlock a sharp look. "Follow me."

He gave a resigned sigh. "Yes Ma'am," he said, he had an idea to where they were going, and he was proved right when they stopped outside the Headmistress' gargoyle.

"Wait here Mr Holmes," Professor Turner said, gently levitating the boy to the ground, before giving the password and descending the stairs.

Sherlock glanced at the Hufflepuff. "I didn't do it," he muttered with a frown. "Your own fault for being out of bed out of hours, I just had the misfortune to run across you." He then stopped talking to the boy, but inspected him, trying to see what his misfortune was.

He got disturbed halfway through his inspection by Professor McGonagall coming down the stairs, followed by Professor Turner. Her eyes widened at the sight of the Hufflepuff, as if she hadn't believed what Professor Turner had told her until that point and then she turned to Sherlock. "Go up to my office Mr. Holmes," she said, she sounded tired but she had just been pulled out of bed. "I will be back soon," she watched him as he nodded and slinked up the stairs into the office.

Sherlock opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit office. He glanced around it, as some of the portraits looked at him curiously. "What brings you to the office Mr Holmes?" Sherlock's eyes flickered till they reached the portrait of Dumbledore, who had spoken. "Two in the morning seems a bit late for a pleasant chat."

Sherlock snorted. "If you are awake now, you would have been half a minute ago when Professor Turner was talking to the headmistress," he pointed out. This caused some mumbles amongst the other portraits but Sherlock ignored them.

"You found Mr Phillimore?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered with a nod. Curious that the headmaster said found, rather than attacked. He presumed that it was Professor Turner would have said when speaking to Professor McGonagall.

"What were you doing out of bed in the first place?" He seemed curious, as if this had nothing to do with an attacked student.

"Professor," Sherlock said. "I will have to say all this when the headmistress gets back, I would rather not have to repeat myself."

Dumbledore nodded, watching the boy with a look that made him feel slightly uncomfortable. "Of course," he said pleasantly. Sherlock eyed him for a few moments before he nodded again, his eyes continuing to scour the room. They landed on the portrait next to Dumbledore, who was watching Sherlock with a blank expression.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the portrait, but he said nothing to the former head of Slytherin house. Sherlock had heard stories of one Severus Snape, and thought that it would have been interesting to be a student when he had taught at the school.

Neither of the two said anything, but when Sherlock's eyes turned to Dumbledore, he saw that he was somewhat amused at the two of them. Sherlock sat down in the chair across from the headmistresses and mulled over what he had learnt that night. He was almost a hundred per cent certain he had figured out what the attacker had used against Jennifer Wilson, and then another victim had been attacked.

He frowned leaning back in the chair, thinking as he waited for Professor McGonagall to return.

* * *

The plot thickens. (I just really wanted to say that.)

Thank-you everyone who has reviewed thus far! I appreciate it a lot.


	11. Questions and Answers

**Chapter Eleven**

**Questions and Answers**

It was seventeen minutes and seven seconds before Professor McGonagall returned, she walked back into the office and was greeted by questions by the portraits. "Poppy is doing the best she can," she answered going to sit in her desk. "But we might need to transfer him to Mungos," she gave a troubled frown, but didn't seem inclined to answer any more questions with Sherlock in the room.

"Mr Holmes," she said surveying him from across the desk. "Explain yourself."

"It wasn't me Professor," he answered staring back at her. He noted that she had been recently writing a letter, there were ink splatters on the back of her left hand.

"You were found beside his body Mr Holmes."

It looked bad, Sherlock did have to admit that, but that didn't excuse the fact that he was innocent. "I was out walking," he explained. "I came across him on my way back to the common room, I was seeing if I could find a pulse."

She looked doubtful, Sherlock wasn't surprised and he knew what the next sentence would be even before she said it. "It was two in the morning, what were you doing out walking?"

He had a feeling that, I couldn't sleep, would be a lame excuse that she wouldn't accept. He wouldn't blame her. So he told the truth, partially. "I was in the library."

"At two in the morning?"

"Yes," Obviously, he thought. _Why? _He thought, right when she asked it. He inwardly smiled to himself. People were predictable. "I was researching, and I was right about to get the answer I was looking for. I didn't want to wait until the morning, especially if I forgot the train of thought that I was on." Sleeping was good at that, making people forget important aspects of their thoughts, and they woke up knowing they had forgotten something but not sure what.

"You say researching, but it wasn't for a class assignment was it?"

He narrowed her eyes at her, but couldn't hide a slight smile. She was quick and clever, oh brilliant. "No," he admitted, she seemed to have expected that and gave a small nod. Sherlock's eyes drifted to the portraits while he waited for her to formulate her next question. Most of them were watching the two converse, but a few were sleeping and out of their portraits.

"What were you researching?"

"An ingredient," Sherlock replied, he had a feeling he wasn't going to get out of this without telling the whole story, and the headmistress was watching him carefully. He decided that he may as well tell her, she would be able to tell the authorities at Mungo's faster. And if he was right it would expel any thought that he was behind the attack on James Phillimore. "It is an ingredient called Torpet puluere," he explained and he noticed the portrait of Severus Snape glance sharply at him with an unreadable expression. He had been a potion professor, he would most likely know the ingredient. "I came across it when reading, and thought that it might be what Wilson was attacked with.

The book I was reading mentioned what happened when the substance was mixed with other ingredients, or diluted in water but it said nothing about it is its solid state. I went to see if the library had any mentions of it," he turned away from the portrait and back to the headmistress. "It being two in the morning or not, I thought it was important."

"What gave you the idea that it was this that Miss Wilson was attacked with?" This came from Snape, and Sherlock hesitated as he glanced at the portraits again.

"I just came across it when reading, I thought it suited. I read books in my spare time, sometimes potions ones, usually potions ones rather," he stifled a yawn, the time finally catching up with him.

"You may go Mr Holmes," McGonagall said frowning thoughtfully. "I may wish to speak to you at a later stage, but I will forward you idea on the ingredient to St Mungos. Goodnight."

"Goodnight Professor," he said standing up giving her a nod, and leaving the door. Not shutting the door fully he hesitated outside the threshold listening.

"It seems like a case of the wrong place at the wrong time," Dumbledore mused. "Though Mr Holmes seems to have a thing for mysteries, if he was trying to find out what happened to the Wilson girl."

"You don't believe that he just stumbled across the information and thought it relevant?" McGonagall asked.

Snape snorted. "Of course not, he was hiding something, that much is obvious."

"He reminds me of you Severus," that was McGonagall again.

Silence.

"Me?"

"Yes you. Reads potion books in his spare time, he's clever but doesn't get particularly well with the students or teachers. Hiding something? Reminds me an awful lot of a Slytherin boy many years past."

"If he reminds you so much of me Minerva you should be worried."

"Why?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

And they said no more.

Careful not to knock the door as he withdrew Sherlock slinked down the stairs with a puzzled frown.

* * *

The class swiveled to the door as there was a knock and the door opened, as students do when someone enters the class part way through a lesson. It was the headmistress which made the students slightly nervous, whether they had done anything wrong or not.

"Professor Hudson," McGonagall said interrupting the teacher, who glanced up at her. "Could Mr Holmes be excused?"

Sherlock frowned lightly and Professor Hudson nodded. Sherlock's classmates glanced at him, wondering what he had done to be pulled out of class by the headmistress. "Bring your books Mr. Holmes, you won't be coming back to class." There was only ten minutes left of the lesson anyway, so that comment didn't make Sherlock too worried. He packed up his bag, and without a word followed the Professor out of the classroom, leaving his muttering classmates behind, wondering what was the cause.

"Professor?" he asked once they were a few meters away from the classroom. He wondered what was so important as to pull him out of class with only ten minutes of the school day left. Though he supposed that the headmistresses might think that he would be easier to find just pulling him out of class, rather than finding him afterwards.

"You were right with your idea about what the attacker had used against Miss Wilson," she said glancing sideways at the first year with a troubled frown. "I wrote to St. Mungo's shortly after you left my office and they got back to me today about the fact that she has since woken up. She won't be well enough to return to school for a few weeks yet but she is awake, which is a relief for both her family and the school."

Sherlock nodded, good, he thought. He had been right. Even if it had taken a couple of hints from the note writer to push him in the right direction. He couldn't help a little smile though, at being right of the cause of her state.

"Mr Phillimore is still in the hospital wing, but the attacker had used the same substance of him and he too has recently woken up, so I would like to thank you for your efforts, as you allowed us to wake both of these students up." Sherlock could sense the however, even before she said it. "However," he smirked slightly to himself.

"You should not have gotten involved. The staff here and at Mungo's were handling it."

"Obviously not," Sherlock muttered.

She gave him a sharp look, and he stared back at her. "I can not deny that you were helpful in discovering the cause, however you should not have gotten involved with it. It was dangerous and not your place to interfere."

"Why? Because I'm a first year?"

"Because you are a student."

"Students can be helpful to," he protested, he didn't like being told to back off, to sit down and let the adults deal with the problems. He knew that that would happen if the teachers found out he was investigating, which was he hadn't wanted to tell them.

"Possibly," she agreed. "But it is not safe for children to get mixed up in these sort of things."

"Tell that to Harry Potter," he muttered, everyone knew the stories of the things Harry Potter had gotten up to in school. Even the muggle borns had, by other students late at night in their common rooms.

"I tried," Mcgonagall said, surprising the Slytherin boy. "Some students find trouble whether they wish to or not. I feel that you may be one of those students Mr Holmes, but the difference between you and Harry was that trouble found him, you are going looking for trouble. It worries me enough when students get injured by menial things, I do not wish to have to worry about a student because he goes searching for trouble, to keep him entertained."

"Who is saying I'm going looking for trouble?" he asked, although he did find it interesting, puzzling things out. "I found how a student was attacked, _once. _I stumbled across the answer, I didn't go looking for trouble."

She glanced at him, and smiled slightly, but it was a tired worn smile. "Perhaps not," she said, though it was obvious in her tone that she doubted him. "But things at Hogwarts get quickly out of hand. I've awarded Slytherin twenty points for your help Mr Holmes, but I would appreciate it if you didn't get involved again."

"You think more people are going to get attacked then?" The clogs in his brain started turning.

"As I said, things at Hogwarts get quickly out of hand. Take care," sensing he was dismissed he hung back to allow her to walk ahead of him.

Sherlock however was thinking, her comment that more people might get injured had sparked a thought. He knew what the two students had been attacked with, and caused the state they were put in. But he didn't know another two things.

By who?

And why?

* * *

accio reviews.


	12. Rumours and Clues

**Chapter Twelve**

**Rumours and Clues**

Sherlock Holmes had attacked a Hufflepuff student named James Phillimore, at least that is what the rumours circulating the school said. Someone had seen the boy sneak into the common room late at the night the night Phillimore had been attacked. And he had been pulled out of class the next day by the headmistress. It wasn't hard for the students to connect the dots.

John wasn't sure whether he believed these rumours or not.

Sherlock seemed unaware of these rumours, he didn't have the edge of a person when they knew that others were talking about them. But again John wasn't sure if that was true or not. He doubted something like that would pass his notice. John watched him one defence class, and wondered if he was lonely. He didn't seem to be, but he could just pretend he wasn't, pretending you weren't would make it easier to deal with the fact. Or so he thought, John didn't know.

Students had always been wary around Sherlock, from the very first day, when it became clear to all that he did not want the company of others. As the term progressed they became more wary, as he was rude and obnoxious to everyone. This recent chain of events reminded them of the boy, who all avoided, ignored and sometimes forgot even existed as they were wrapped up in what was happening in their own lives. Suspicious looks and murmurs followed him. And eventually John decided that he wanted to know what Sherlock had to say.

With vague excuses to Mike and Carl John followed Sherlock out of defence one class as his friends went down to lunch, he kept his distance, though that was less of a conscious decision and more just because before he reached him a swarm of fifth years passed in front of him.

Sherlock reached a random classroom door on the second floor and then stopped, pausing with one hand on the handle and turned. "Your footsteps are loud," Sherlock murmured eyeing him. He let go of the door knob and leant back against the door.

John for some reason, glanced down at his feet, as though that would tell him why he had been stepping so loudly. He glanced up at Sherlock and shrugged, wary. The wariness of the students did not exclude John Watson, with all his random conversations with the boy he had become more so. Though perhaps for different reasons.

"What do you want Watson?" his tone seemed tired.

"What?" John asked. "You don't already know?" He hadn't meant it to sound mocking, but it had come out that way. He had been used to walking up to Sherlock with Sherlock already knowing how the whole conversation was going to go. What do you want, seemed like a strange question to ask. Sherlock's eyes narrowed and John regretted his words already. "Sorry," he said quickly with a lame shrug. "You just always seem to know why I've come to talk."

"I have an idea, but I'd presume you'd be avoiding me like the rest of the school does."

"Mum always told me to hear both sides of the story," John said, and then flushed slightly, considering his sentence had started with 'mum always told me'.

"Clever woman," Sherlock murmured.

"So?" John prompted.

"It wasn't me if that is what you want to hear."

"Is it true? It might be what I want to hear, but I was to hear the honest answer."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, it is true, I did not attack Phillimore."

"Why were you out of the common room the night he was attacked then?" It seemed suspicious, and the rumours would be harder to shake if the school knew that Sherlock was found beside the unconscious boy instead of just out of bed the same night.

"Unlucky coincidence, I was in the library researching."

"…in the middle of the night?"

He gave a huff of exasperation, that question had been asked a few times it seemed. "Yes," he said irritably.

"Why?"

"None of your business Watson," he snapped at him.

"Neither was the attack of Jennifer, but you involved yourself in that," John stopped suddenly with a frown, his eyes turning to the wall that was sitting behind Sherlock. "…why are you going into that classroom?"

"No reason."

"_Holmes,_" he said warningly, but Sherlock only raised an eyebrow at him. "What is behind the door?"

"Nothing," he lied.

John scowled in frustration, he was impossible. "No wonder the school thinks you are behind the attack on the Hufflepuff," he said without thinking. "Sneaking off, into classrooms, lying about what you are doing."

If John had been paying more attention to Sherlock, he might have noticed the other boy flinch slightly, but he didn't and Sherlock hid it quickly.

"I didn't attack him, I've _said _that."

"You could be lying like every other time." John took a step towards him, he wanted to get behind that door to see what Sherlock was attempting to hide. Sherlock didn't move, but his eyes watched John warily.

"I'm not."

"Why should I believe you?"

"You don't have to, but it'll make both our lives easier," Sherlock paused for a second eyeing the Gryffindor. "Don't leap at me, I know you're about to."

His element of surprise gone, John didn't even ask how, sometimes it was a stupid question but he moved, leaping at him. He figured he wasn't going to talk Sherlock away from the door to let him in, but he could push him to the side and force his way in. He was stronger, that much was obvious just from eyeing him.

Sherlock leapt out of the way, he'd been ready for an attack. But that didn't faze John as with jumping out of the way he moved out of the way from the door. Realising his mistake moments after he made it he moved back in the direction of the door but John had already flung it open and moved inside.

Originally he thought that the room was empty, but as Sherlock entered the room moments behind him he noticed the piece of paper sitting on the floor in the middle of the room.

"Don't!" Sherlock yelled.

John ignored him, and scooped it up. He frowned and looked up at him. "When you said the letter writer wrote you a letter, I figured you meant one, not that you were having a whole conversation with him."

"What does it matter?" he said irritably, swiping at the paper that John moved away from his hand.

"What does it matter? Two students have been attacked Sherlock!" John didn't notice that he had called him Sherlock, but the other boy did.

He paused for a moment, blinking, before he continued with what he had been about to say. "And conversing with the letter writer will help me figure out _who _has attacked them. I know why, I've figured that out."

"You figured _that _out?"

Sherlock looked smug for a moment. "Yes, and I was _right._"

"Really?" John was surprised. He'd underestimated Sherlock apparently.

"Yes really, now give me the letter so I can figure out who."

John hesitated, but it was that hesitation that was all that Sherlock needed. He leapt forward and grabbed the paper out of his hands, unfolding it quickly.

His eyes glanced over it and without a word to John, Sherlock turned suddenly and bolted out of the room. Moments later John followed him, asking what it had said. Sherlock passed the letter to him as they ran.

_The person you are looking for was put into the house of the cunning. Quickly now, if you're fast enough you might find him on the fifth floor outside the runes classroom. -RB _

There was no time for breath to ask any questions as John followed him through the school. They got strange looks as they past, running full pelt through the school, up stairs and around corridors. Sherlock was _fast, _it surprised him as he followed a few steps behind, he hadn't expected him to be that fast. On the fourth floor Sherlock nearly sent a Ravenclaw first year into the ground. John yelled sorry behind him, as Sherlock hadn't, and not wanting to stop for a moment and lose Sherlock.

The two skidded to a halt outside the runes classroom on the fifth floor. Professor Hope who took runes was their talking to a student, a student who was a Hufflepuff. Sherlock gave a huff of frustration. "Sorry Sir," he apologised to the teacher, ignoring the looks from both the Professor and the student as he headed off back down the hall. Slower this time, as the two caught their breath.

"That was unlikely to work anyway," Sherlock said frowning as John fell into step beside him. "But worth the shot. A Slytherin, well, it narrows it down at least…."

John started to laugh.

Sherlock frowned further. "What?" he asked him.

John was still laughing. "That was ridiculous," he said through his laughter. And it had been, following Sherlock full pelt through the school. Especially running up three flights of stairs, it wasn't an easy feat, and they had gotten interesting looks from the students that they had run past.

Sherlock smiled, and it was the first time that John had seen him smile with joy, rather than with a bitter twist, or because unfortunate events entertained him. It made John smile more.

* * *

Thankyou people so much for your reviews, they made me so happy. I'm glad you are enjoying the story!


	13. Where Dwell the Brave at Heart

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Where Dwell the Brave at Heart **

By the time John had reached the great hall Mike and Carl had left, gone back up to the common room.

So he ate on his own and headed back up to the common room. Giving the fat lady the password he entered the room and found Mike and Carl sitting in chairs near the fire, playing chess. Mike was losing horrifically. "Hey," he said cheerily sitting down next to them, they glanced up from their chess game.

"Hey," they responded.

John sat there, watching the game, and pointing out moves Mike could make when he noticed them. It didn't help much, and sometimes it made things worse for him. He would have given it up as a lost cause, but Carl's disgruntlement amused him.

"Oi John," John turned to see Sally Donovan stalking up to him, Sarah Sawyer trailing behind her.

"Yes?" he asked glancing away from the chess game, where Mike was hurriedly moving his king away from an attacking queen and rook.

"What were you doing running through the hallways with Holmes?"

Carl, a rook in his hand turned to face John. "Is that where you disappeared off too?"

"I went to talk to him," John protested.

"And that led to a chase through the hallways?" Donovan raised an eyebrow at him. Sarah had drifted off to talk to a friend, but glanced over a few times to see how the discussion was going.

John shrugged. "I was talking to him, he suddenly got an idea and tore off. I followed him, 'cause I wanted to know why he did." Mike and Carl had stopped playing chess by this point, and were watching the conversation curiously.

Donovan eyed him suspiciously. "Stay away from Sherlock Holmes," she told him firmly.

"Why?"

She snorted in amusement at him. "He's a freak, look at him. His ability to read people is probably just a branch of dark magic. And you know what the school is saying, that he attacked Phillimore and probably Jennifer too. He's dangerous John, keep away from him." And with that she turned on her foot and walked off. The trio of Gryffindor boys watched her, and then glanced at each other.

"I think she's right," Carl muttered with a glance at John. "He's a weird one that Holmes."

"You think he attacked those students?" John asked frowning. He thought that part of the prejudice against Sherlock was the house rivalry. But he knew that was only a very small part of it. The Slytherins seemed to dislike him as much as the Gryffindors did.

"I dunno," Carl shrugged. "But there's something strange about him."

John glanced at Mike, who also shrugged. "I don't think he attacked them, he's rude and has no moral compass but he isn't needlessly cruel. Just be careful if you hang around him John."

"I thought you said he didn't attack those people."

Mike shook his head, with a glance at the chess board as Carl moved his rook. "That's not what I meant John."

"Then what did you mean? And I'd advise you take his queen with your bishop."

Mike glanced at the board and Carl cursed giving John an irritated look. "I meant be careful that he doesn't hurt you John, not as in being attacked, there are other ways to hurt people. It's motives, reasons, and what will help him the most with Sherlock Holmes, emotions don't come into it." He moved his bishop across the board and knocked over Carl's queen.

* * *

It was late at night and the three Gryffindor boys sat by the fire, chess had been packed up hours before and Mike was steadily making his way through his transfiguration homework. Carl was reading, and John was building a card castle on the table with a pack of muggle playing cards.

Carl kept trying to knock it over, and John scowled and swatted at his hand every time it came near. He didn't always stop him though, and more often than not it caused the cards to tumble to the ground.

He just frowned, and started building it again. He had nothing better to do, and he was tired enough that he would have gone to bed but he didn't feel like it. Nights sitting in the common room with his friends were nice, and he was thinking. Building card castles just gave him something to do with his hands as he thought.

"John?" Carl asked glancing up from his book.

"Yeah?" John asked, watching him warily incase he took another jab at his castle. It was taller than he managed that evening, and he was hoping he wouldn't accidently knock it over, or Carl would purposely.

"Never mind."

John frowned. "Carl, tell me."

Taken off guard thinking that Carl had something important to tell him, he wasn't fast enough to deflect the boy's hand as it darted forward and poked one of the bottom cards of his castle. John sighed as it folded on top of itself, part of it falling to the floor.

"You suck," John grumbled scooping the cards into a pile.

Carl smiled at him cheerily, and put his book to the side. "C'mon let's play a game."

"Snap?" John suggested, he was too tired to think of another game that you could play with two people.

Carl shrugged at him. "Sure, but one of these day's we'll recruit one of the girls and I'll teach you two how to play kemps."

John nodded at him, and started to shuffle the cards, not that it was needed because they were already pretty shuffled from his night of card castle making.

* * *

"Idiot," Mike laughed, nudging a red faced Carl as they came up from the potions classroom the next day. Carl was bright red with embarrassment and John could see that he wished his friends would stop. But there was no hope there, as that is what friends were for, teasing you mercilessly about idiotic things that you do.

"Stop it," he said hiding his face in his hands.

John snickered under his breath.

"John!" Carl whined, stick up for me, his tone said.

"It was kind of stupid Carl," John said trying to hide his laughter and failing miserably. Carl grumbled at the two of them.

"You both suck!" he exclaimed crossing his arms over his chest. It didn't help that he could hear others in their class talking about it. It wasn't his fault he'd asked a really stupid question. Though it kind of had been.

"Well, so do you!" Mike replied.

"Do not."

"Do so."

"You're both three year olds," John laughed shaking his head.

Carl shoved playfully at him, and John shoved back, the way boys do. And had a mini playful brawl in the hallway much to the amusement of their classmates.

"Come on you two," Mike said, breaking it up. "Before you get busted for fighting, playfully or not."

John shoved at Carl one more time with a grin, and then raced off. Leaving his friends to chase after him. Mike rolled his eyes and shook his head but a few moments later was tearing down the hall after the both of them.

* * *

"Let me at him," John snarled at Mike and Carl who were holding him back from the back of a smirking Anderson who had just walked off.

"He's not worth it John," Carl said to their struggling friend.

"It'll make me feel better," he scowled at the back of the Slytherin boy. "Let me go," he told his friends.

"If you promise not to chase after him and tackle him to the ground," Mike conditioned.

John hesitated and nodded. "Fine," he huffed. His friends hesitated before they let go of his arms, John teetered on his feet for a moment about to charge off but thought better off and rocked back onto his heels with a sigh. "Jerk," he muttered.

Carl and Mike nodded sympathetically. It had been the first time that John had been verbally attacked because of his blood status, and it had riled him up more than he had expected it would. He hadn't been called a mudblood, but what Anderson said hadn't been much better. "I don't see how it makes any difference!" he exclaimed loudly, causing Carl to jump.

"It doesn't," Mike said watching John warily. "Not to most, to some it still does," he frowned. "You'd think after the war they'd realize even more how stupid it is," he shrugged and sighed, he didn't understand it. He as a pureblood saw nothing wrong with those of a lesser blood status.

"It's stupid," Carl agreed, he was a half blood but still felt partially insulted over the insult. Having muggle blood was not a bad thing.

"Come on," John said. "Let's head back to the common room."

His two friends exchanged worried glances. "We're here for you John," Carl said, bumping gently into him.

John smiled at him. "Thank-you both, though I still think pummeling Anderson to a pulp would improve his looks a bit."

Mike snorted. "Probably."

* * *

I hadn't focused much of Mike and Carl, and so this chapter turned into showing more of them and their relationship with John.

You know what you be nice? A nice lovely review. *Hinthint*


	14. Curiosity Killed the Cat

**Warning: Mentions of suicide.**

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Curiosity Killed the Cat**

"So why exactly are you reading a potions book when you've finished your assignment?" John asked, glancing up from his potions essay to stare at Sherlock who was reading through a completely unrelated potions book.

"They're interesting," this earned him an incredulous look and Sherlock rolled his eyes. "They are," he said going back to his book.

John shook his head. "I don't see how, I like to avoid reading my potions book unless I absolutely have to."

"Gryffindors as a general rule tend to avoid potions as much as possible, you don't have the patience or skill for it."

"Thanks," John muttered sourly. Sherlock looked up from his book, and smiled slightly. "Well if you are so good at potions, why do yours keep exploding? You've exploded as many as anyone else has."

Which was true. "I'm experimenting, most of you blow things up because you have no idea what you are doing, or don't follow the rules properly. I purposely don't follow the rules or add different ingredients to see what happens. Experimenting."

"Why?"

"It's interesting."

There was a few moments of silence before John asked the next question. "Made any head way with the attacker?" There had been no new attacks, and no new evidence but the note writer kept dropping hints which were no use to Sherlock. According to the note writer it was a Slytherin, it might not be, he didn't exclude the possibility that it wasn't, and he'd been paying more attention to his house mates. To no avail.

"Not yet," he said with a sigh and a frown, placing the book down. "I don't understand how the person isn't noticed. How do you go around attacking students without it being noticed. Especially at the night, when students aren't meant to be out of bed."

"Like that stops anyone," John muttered.

Sherlock inclined his head in agreement. "Yes, but still."

John nodded.

"Mr Holmes?" John jumped, but Sherlock just turned his attention to the teacher that had walked up to their table. "Could I have a word?"

Sherlock had his aha! moment as he stared at the teacher, his earlier question answering itself. "Of course," he said standing up and gathering his books. "I'll see you another time Watson."

John nodded, who after a glance at the teacher had gone back to his essay. "See you," he said frowning at what he had written, he wasn't sure how much sense it made.

Sherlock slinging his bag onto his back followed Professor Hope out of the library, his mind whirling. Teachers had free reign to be anywhere at any time without being noticed. His lip curled at the corner, it all made sense now. He eyed the Professor and thought that he was probably a Slytherin, when the note writer had said so, he wasn't referring to someone currently a student. And Professor Hope had been outside that classroom.

They didn't stop outside the library but continued through the hallways. No one paid them any mind, there wasn't anything strange with a student seen trailing behind a teacher through the school.

They ended up on the sixth floor, and at a classroom Sherlock had not been inside before. It was an empty part of the school at this time of the evening. Before he entered the room, out of the corner of his eye he saw the painted depiction of Severus Snape flit through the portraits, back down the way that Sherlock had come.

"Mr Holmes?" Sherlock glanced back to Professor Hope, who had opened the door and was gesturing for Sherlock to enter.

"And why should I enter?" Sherlock drawled, because he knew that he was likely to be attacked inside the room, because that is what happened to Wilson and Phillimore. Although there was no evidence of a struggle.

"Because aren't you curious?" And that was reason enough, because if anything Sherlock was, he wanted to know the reasons, the motives, and why. He'd thought about them constantly, about what reasons someone would have to attack two unrelated students.

Sherlock inclined his head and stepped into the room, Professor Hope shut the door behind him and Sherlock couldn't help but glance back at it, wondering if this was a good idea. No it's not, he thought immediately after, but he didn't turn around and leave.

Professor Hope moved a seat so that they were opposite each other across a table, and the duo sat. Sherlock watching the teacher carefully, he thought maybe the motives would have been easier to pick up once he knew who it was. But he was still as confused as he had been before.

"People are talking about you Mr Holmes," the Professor said watching him. "Both teachers and students alike. No one has inspired such interest in a student since Harry Potter, and you have no defeated a dark lord. But still, curious." Sherlock was silent. "Though where Potter's interest was positive, yours appears to be mainly negative. The students think you are the attacker, some of the staff agree with them. Those who don't think that, don't have a high opinion of you either, rude, obnoxious," he listed with a wave of his hand. "Doesn't listen, constantly picking on people. It goes on."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Why are you attacking people?"

The Professor raised an eyebrow. "Ignoring my comments are we Holmes?"

"They're irrelevant."

"Are they?"

"Answer my question."

"Answer mine."

Sherlock frowned, he did not care to talk about himself, he wanted to know the reason why students were being attacked. Why he might be. Probably would be, now that the attacker had revealed himself. "Yes, it is irrelevant, it has nothing to do with what is happening here."

"Doesn't it?"

"Yes."

"Then why are _you _here? If you had nothing to do with this, then why did I reveal myself to you? When I could have continued going on without it. You weren't getting any closer, even if you had discovered the methods," he inclined his head. "Congratulations on that Mr Holmes, I was surprised."

"You want glory, and acknowledgement for what you have done, you can't own up to anyone else because you'll be stunned and arrested before you can blink," once they knew who was attacking the students the teachers would not have followed him to see where he would lead them, but would have stunned him immediately. "You don't think you have any danger of that from me, why would you? I'm only a first year. But you're aware that I've been paying attention to the attacks, and trying to unravel them. So you can gloat to me, before you do whatever you do."

Professor Hope raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair. "If you had lived till you were older you would be magnificent, your mind is still developing, you are still young." Sherlock wondered if that meant that everyone was going to be twice as boring, he hoped not.

"For your brains you aren't very clever," Sherlock pointed out, ignoring again the comments about himself. He did not need to be told what he was like, or would be like by this stranger.

"Oh?"

"Yes, oh. You're planning to kill me, obviously, or you wouldn't be telling me anything. But killing a suspect isn't very clever, gives people one less option to blame. They aren't slow enough that the answer will elude them forever."

The Professor smirked. "Oh no Mr Holmes, I've thought about that. It is going to seem a suicide," he leaned forward closer to the younger Slytherin boy. "That you realised what you were doing, that you were hurting people. And you took your life because of it."

_Clever, _Sherlock couldn't help but think in spite of everything else. If it worked it was a good plan, though it meant you couldn't attack any more people, but with the cure discovered there was little reason to anyway.

"You came to your senses once you attacked the Phillimore boy, realised what you had been doing, once you were found next to him. So you told the headmistress how to cure them, to redeem yourself. But it was not enough."

"You are missing an important point."

"Am I?"

"Getting me to kill myself, without incriminating yourself. There can't be any sign of a struggle."

"There won't be." There was such a strong lack of doubt in his voice that it made Sherlock raise an eyebrow, killing someone to make it look like they did it themselves was no easy feat. "A pureblood like yourself, you must have heard of the unforgiveables, or at least the imperio curse."

Despite himself Sherlock's eyes widened, and under the table his hand clenched around his wand. That was why there had never been any sign of a struggle, the victims had in fact taken the powder themselves.

"Well," Sherlock said, attempting to keep his voice level. He wasn't too sure how well he succeeded. "How am I going to kill myself then? Jump off the astronomy tower? Fall down all seven flights of stairs?"

"No, you'll slit your wrists, and take the torpet puluere powder. Immobilised as you bleed to death. No one will find you in time." At this, he took out both a sharp knife and a small clear vile full of white powder and placed them on the table.

Sherlock's mind was whirling, trying to come up with suggestions to get out of this predicament. His main one at the moment was attempting to get him off of his guard and run for his life until he was in a more populated area, or even out into the hall where the portraits would be able to see him.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why?"

"Yes, why. Why are you attacking students, what do you get out of it?"

"I was told to."

Sherlock blinked. Thinking about it, the answer shouldn't have surprised him in the least. A lot of people attacked others because somebody else had told them too. He had just expected the reason to be a bit more personal. "By who?"

"It doesn't matter to you."

"I'd like to know why I'm going to die."

There was a few moments of silence. "It was a test. For you, before you ask. To see whether you'd unravel it. You got halfway there, but I was told to finish you off. So here we are."

"By who?" he asked yet again.

"None of your concern Mr Holmes."

"I want to know who is trying to kill me."

"Brook."

"Brook who?"

"Your time has come Mr Holmes. Let's stop these questions."

Sherlock tightened his grip on his wand, and had only just raised when a disarmer went his way and sent it flying. Sherlock's eyes watched it fly, and he cursed and dove for it. A second expelliarmus hit the wand and sent it skittering further. Sherlock got to his feet and turned to Professor Hope, whose wand was now turned on him.

* * *

Review or Sherlock dies. (This is me holding a ransom, oblige yeah? Nevermind that I couldn't kill him.)


	15. Swish and Flick

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Swish and Flick**

Not long after Sherlock had left John packed up his bag, and rolled up his essay with a yawn. His mind full of potion ingredients and formulas, ways to make potions and what ingredients did what, he was sure that he had forgotten something important in his essay, but couldn't think of what it might be. Leaving the library, he headed up the halls towards the Gryffindor common room. The hallways were mostly empty, it was nearing curfew, and if people were still out of bed they would be more careful about being so. Especially considering there was an attacker loose on the school.

He was walking through the hallways when he heard a voice, after a glance up and down the hallway, he realized that it came from a portrait, flitting through the paintings. "Phineas! Get Minerva."

"Why?" Came the lazy drawl of a reply.

"I think we found our attacker," John started adjusting the strap of his bag to listen in. "Holmes was just led into a room on the sixth floor, now _hurry _and get Minerva. Before we have another attacked student on our hands, or a dead one, with how much that boy knows."

John didn't stay to listen to anymore, he was heading towards the sixth floor. Racing up the staircases, two at a time. It was harder, running than walking, for both the obvious reason, and that it was harder to remember which stairs to jump over when you weren't paying as much attention to them. He stopped on the landing, his cheeks tinged pink and breathing harsh, he had to stop to catch his breath.

If he had stopped to think he would have wondered why he was going to charge straight into danger, but he didn't think of that. He didn't even think about the fact that he hardly knew Sherlock, and just barely got on with him. He just thought that Sherlock could be in trouble. And that seemed reason enough.

Once he had breath enough he realized that he had no idea where on the sixth floor Sherlock was. With no better way to find out, he went to the nearest door and yanked it open. Finding it empty he moved to the next one. As he continuously found them empty, a sense of panic started to build up in him, and scenarios of things gone wrong started to play in his mind.

When he ripped the door open there was a moment where everything stopped. John in surprise and relief at finding the right room, Jeff Hope at the first year who had just entered the classroom. And Sherlock, who was stock still, whose eyes did not even turn to face the door which had been flung open.

But he seemed to be inwardly warring against himself, his hand slowly edging towards a knife seated on the table, next to a small bottle of powder.

John had a second to think up a plan of action, to stop the Professor, and Sherlock reached for the knife. So he decided to kill two birds with one stone, or attempt to at least. Knowing he had no chance of successfully attacking the Professor with a spell.

His wand in his hand, he hadn't even noticed pulling it out as he checked rooms, he aimed it at the knife. "Wingardium leviosa!" A spell they had been doing in charms the previous week.

So far, John had been lucky, entering the room as he had he had taken Professor Hope by surprise and had shocked him into inactivity for a few seconds. The seconds which he used to aim a spell at the knife. He would have been jolted into an attack far sooner if John had attacked him, but because he hadn't, he only had a few moments to realize that the knife that Sherlock was meant to be using to kill himself was flying through the air towards him.

It was then that his concentration wavered and his imperio failed, bringing Sherlock back into his senses. The Slytherin boy blinked for a moment, and then glanced sideways at John, obviously surprised to see him there. But there was time to voice such surprise as Professor Hope had deflected the knife which clattered to the floor and turned to get rid of the pesky Gryffindor that had charged like a knight in shining armor into the classrooom.

The two boys stared at each other, well, now what? the looks seemed to say. John shrugged at him. Make it up as we go along? The two turned to the Professor and Sherlock eyed his wand on the floor, they would be in a better position if he could pick it up.

"Surprised?" Sherlock asked, and somehow still his voice managed to be a drawl. John stared, wondering why the other boy was talking to the Professor, instigating a conversation. He frowned.

"Slightly," Professor Hope said, his eyes drifting to Sherlock and away from John. "I was used to you sticking your nose in where it isn't welcome. Wasn't expecting the Gryffindor, should have really. Gryffindors _love _to get involved in things that don't concern them."

Sherlock was staring pointedly at John, but he turned his attention back to the Professor. And perhaps a little slowly John realised Sherlock was trying to distract him, and John was meant to be doing something. The Professor was allowing himself to be distracted, because he didn't expect a threat from two first years.

"Oh yes, Gryffindors do like to get involved, quite annoying really."

So John decided to get involved. With the Professor distracted talking to Sherlock, John hesitantly raised his wand, and pointed it at a chair. Whispering the spell under his breath, the chair hovered and he glanced worriedly at Sherlock and the Professor. Despite him not having a wand, Professor Hope still saw Sherlock as the greater threat, as his wand was pointed towards the Slytherin boy. John wasn't sure whether to be insulted or not. He after all, was still holding a wand.

Thinking a table might have been a better idea, though he doubt he had the ability to levitate a table just yet. He flung his wand in the direction of the teacher, and unlike with the knife the Professor did not notice the flying chair until it collided into him, sending him sprawling to the ground. Sherlock dove for his wand, and John leapt at the Professor, wrestling his wand out of his hand.

"Don't move," Sherlock said, holding his wand once more and pointing it at the teacher. John sporting a blow to the side of the head, but triumphantly holding two wands in his hand, stepped away and moved to beside Sherlock.

The two boys glanced at each other again. Now what? They asked each other mutely.

The question was answered with the door flinging open, and Professor McGonagall and Professor Hudson entered the room, with their wands raised. They seemed surprised at the two first years pointing their wands at the grown man on the ground.

"Hello Professors," Sherlock said, his eyes fixed on Professor Hope.

John was glad at the appearance of them, because despite their confidences, if Professor Hope had leaped at them, they wouldn't have been very good at holding him back, especially considering they didn't really have an array of spells at their disposal.

"If you could take the boys to my office," Professor McGonagall said to Professor Hudson. "I'll be there once I have dealt with him," she shot Professor Hope a look of loathing and pointed her wand at him. He shrunk slightly, obviously more afraid of the headmistress with a wand, angry at someone who dared to attack her students.

"Mr Holmes, Mr Watson," Professor Hudson said. Sherlock shot Hope a look before heading to the door and pocketing his wand.

John held out Professor Hope's wand to McGonagall. "His wand Professor," he said as she took it from him.

She nodded at the boy, and pocketed it. John headed to the door.

Once outside the room, Professor Hudson turned to the both of them, her worry clear on her face now that the immediate danger had passed. "Are the both of you alright?" she asked, as they walked down the hallway. John didn't notice the portrait of Severus tailing them, but Sherlock did.

"Yep," John answered. "I'm fine, just a bit, y'know," he shrugged and she nodded sympathetically.

"Would about you Mr Holmes?"

"He didn't injure us," he said. Which in John's opinion didn't quite answer the question. He glanced at him with a frown, and thought that Sherlock looked tired. Fair enough, he supposed, but he wondered what the answer would be to Professor Hudson's question, if he answered it honestly.

"That wasn't the question," and John was glad that he wasn't the only one to have noticed.

"I'm fine," Sherlock answered, there was a sharp edge to his tone, that was synonymous with saying _back off. _

"Sherlock, you were just attacked, you can say you're not fine, it is okay to not be fine," she said kindly, and it was not unnoticed by either boy that she had lapsed into using his first name.

He glanced at her. "I'm fine Professor," he said, but his voice was softer this time, and she stared at him for a few long moments before she nodded.

"I won't ask about what happened, as Minerva will, and I doubt that you want to repeat yourselves."

The rest of the walk to the office was in silence, Professor Hudson kept glancing worriedly at the two boys, and John kept shooting glances at Sherlock. Sherlock stared dead ahead, and did not even acknowledge the other two people standing beside him.

* * *

Probably not my best chapter, but I wanted to get it up, considering the cliffhanger I left the last chapter on.

And THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR REVIEWS. Honestly, they are amazing, so thank-you muchly.


	16. First Years and Aurors

**Chapter Sixteen**

**First Years and Aurors**

Professor Hudson gestured them into the office, and into chairs in front of the desk, as she turned to portraits on the wall. "I need the ministry informed that we need auroras, the attacker has been found." There was a murmur of consent and one portrait flittered out of their frame, and into their mirror one in the ministry.

At the mention of the attacker the portraits turned their attention to the two boys sitting in front of the desk. "What happened?" one of them asked, clearly worried, by their tone of voice.

"We are waiting until Minerva returns, I doubt the boys wish to repeat themselves," she glanced at them with a light frown. Both boys were silent, John staring dead ahead, and Sherlock as usual attempting to look at everything at once.

Not long later Professor McGonagall swept into the room. "He's contained in one of the classrooms for the moment," she said with a glance at Professor Hudson. "I take it that you've alerted the ministry?" There was a nod, and McGonagall nodded in return. "Good," she moved over behind her desk and eyed the two boys. "Could you tell us what happened?" she asked, and he tone shifted from the sharp tone she had used upon entering the room, to a quieter, more kinder one.

John glanced at Sherlock, he after all, had not come in until later. "Well," Sherlock said, he knew he was about to get berated for following Professor Hope when he knew he was the attacker. The office was silent, everyone watching him. "I was studying in the library with Watson," with this he glanced at John. "And Professor Hope come over asking for a word."

"And you followed him?" This was McGonagall.

"Of course."

"Why? Did you know he was the attacker?"

"Yes."

"You _knew?_" John exploded, making a couple people jump. John rounded on Sherlock. "I'd asked you about ten minutes earlier if you had any headways, and you said _no._"

"I didn't know when you asked me," Sherlock replied with a shrug. "I realised it, when he came over and asked for a word. Things clicked then."

John was frowning at him, but he wasn't there only one, both Professors and a large margin of the portraits were. With a glance at Severus Snape, Sherlock saw that he looked slightly amused. "Why did you follow him them?" McGonagall asked, frowning deeply. "If you knew he was the one attacking students? Wouldn't the smart course of action be to politely refuse? And tell a teacher."

"I was curious."

"Curious enough to risk your life?"

"I wasn't going to die."

"You sure about that?" John muttered under his breath, staring at him with a look that plainly said he thought Sherlock was an idiot.

Sherlock's eyes flickered to John, but he ignored him, turning back to the headmistress. "I was curious to see what his motives were, and how he was doing it, and why. Motives are important, I like to find out the whys and hows."

"Did you find them out?" she seemed to hesitate in her berating, to find out these motives. Sherlock hid a smirk.

"Yes," he said, and elaborated no further. McGonagall raised an eyebrow at him, and Sherlock knew that he wasn't going to get out of telling them what he found out. He should have lied about finding it out. "It was a test," he said. "The earlier attacks were a test for somebody, to see if they would unravel the puzzle, and figure out what was happening."

John looked sharply at Sherlock again. Obviously thinking about the letters that had been left for him, this had all been done to get his attention. He frowned.

"How, well. I was right about the powder, he was using it. But he wasn't forcing it down their throat. Which would be why there was no sign of a struggle."

"Then why were they taking it?"

"What spell do you know that makes people do what they do not want to do? What other people want to do."

Her eyes narrowed, and there was a collective gasp from a number of the portraits. "Imperio," she said, and her voice was sharp and cold.

Sherlock nodded. "Make them take it, I presume he'd obliviate them as well, so they'd forget what happened, when/if they woke?" he glanced at McGongall who nodded.

"They couldn't remember what had happened," she affirmed. Sherlock nodded, as if he had thought as much. "Did he attempt that on you?"

"Yes, but he was going to go further," she raised an eyebrow curiously. "He, was going to make me kill myself, and then take the powder so I was immobilized while I bleed to death."

There was a shocked silence. Both at what had been said, and the nonchalant way in which it had been said. After a few moments McGonagall spoke. "How did you manage to get out of that one?" she asked him.

Sherlock glanced sideways at John. "Well," he said. "That would be where John comes in."

The attention in the room turned to John, and the Gryffindor fidgeted nervously. "Uh," he said eloquently. "Well," he glanced at Sherlock who gave him an impatient roll of his eyes. "I'd been studying with Sher-Holmes, and he'd gone off and followed the Professor. And not long later I'd finished my homework, so I went to head back up to my common room.

And I was heading through the hallways when I heard two of the portraits talking to each other, one saying that he thought Holmes was in danger on a room on the sixth floor."

"How did you know Severus?" McGonagall asked, turning to the portraits.

"Professor Hope teaches ancient runes, Mr Holmes as a first year, does not do ancient runes. There is no reason as to why he would be wishing to speak with him. So I followed, and when they were led to a random classroom on the sixth floor I sensed something was up."

"Ah."

"I noticed you following," Sherlock commented. "I figured you'd go for help."

"I wouldn't have needed to if you hadn't followed him in the first place," he berated.

Sherlock shrugged at him. "I was curious, you can't condemn for me that can you?"

"I can when it puts you into life threatening situations."

Sherlock snorted at him, causing Severus to raise an eyebrow, Sherlock raised one in turn.

McGonagall interrupted the staring contest by turning back to John. "So you knew Mr Holmes, had been lead up the sixth floor, then what?"

"I went up, I had no idea what room on the sixth floor he had been in, so I started pulling open doors at random. Eventually I just stumbled across the right one, much to everyone's surprise I think," he summed up the rest of the tale until the Professor's charged in and lapsed into silence.

"Lucky for you Mr Holmes that Mr Watson was there," McGonagall said after a few long moments.

"Indeed," Sherlock said glancing at John.

"The aurors are coming Minerva," a portrait that had just slinked into their frame said. "They are coming up the stair case now."

McGonagall nodded. "Who did they send?" she asked.

"Potter and Gregson."

She nodded again. "Good good," she murmured. She eyed the two boys. "I'd send you off to bed, but I have a feeling they would like a statement or something from you." They nodded and a few moments later there was a knock at the door. "Enter," McGonagall said, and the two aurors entered.

"Headmistresses," the elder of the two, Gregson said.

"Gregson," she replied formally and glanced at Harry. "Harry," she said warmly, she had always had a soft spot for him.

He smiled at her. "Minerva," he said, as if the word was strange on his tongue, calling his old school teacher by her first name. He glanced at the portraits behind her and nodded at them. Dumbledore smile in response, but Severus' lip curled into a sneer, which Harry did his best to ignore, old habits die hard.

"You caught the attacker then?" he asked, eyes drifting to the two first years watching him.

"Yes, it was Jeff Hope."

Gregson frowned. "Wasn't he the-"

"The runes Professor yes."

"Wouldn't be the first time a teacher has been up to no good," Harry mused, thinking of his first year defence teacher.

"No," McGonagall agreed with a deep frown. "It would not. It would also not be the first time they were thwarted by first years," she gave him a stern look, but it was good natured and the young auror gave her a sheepish smile.

"Sometimes when students get the idea that they can stop the bad guy, you've got to let them," he shook his head thinking of his school days.

"Perhaps, though despite all you did, it never felt right having students leap into danger. I doubt it ever will. Even with what certain students can do," she sighed. "I'm sure you would agree with that now?"

He nodded. "Yeah, seems silly doesn't it, that it takes children to stop it," he shrugged and glanced at Sherlock and John again. He raised his eyebrows slightly, noticing the Slytherin colours on Sherlock's uniform both surprised at the fact that it was a Gryffindor and Slytherin pair sitting in front of him, and that it was a Slytherin who had leapt in to save the day. He had nothing against the house, not anymore, but he was surprised nonetheless. Considering he didn't expect the self preservant house to be the one looking for trouble.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him. "How are the children?" he asked lazily.

Harry blinked in confusion, and John hid a smile. McGonagall rolled her eyes slightly at the Slytherin boy. "Mr Holmes has a keen eye," she explained to Harry. "He can tell you things about your life by staring at you. I presume you've got some tell tale sign on you somewhere that you have children."

"Curious," Harry said, eyeing him. "I'd enquire more, but perhaps we should do what we came here to do," he glanced at Gregson who nodded.

"If you'll direct me to where you have held Mr Hope," Gregson said. "And Potter can talk to the witnesses," McGonagall stood and the two swept out of the room.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	17. The End of the Beginning

**Chapter Seventeen**

**The End of the Beginning**

"You are such an idiot!" John exclaimed once they had left the office. "What were you thinking? Following him when you _knew _he was attacking those students. Idiot."

Sherlock scowled at him. "I was doing fine," he protested.

John snorted. "Yeah fine, you were completely at his mercy when I came in."

"Well I didn't know he was going to use an unforgivable."

"You knew he was going to do something dangerous!"

Sherlock shrugged. "I wanted to know his reasons."

"You could have died!" he was almost shouting, glaring at the other boy. Unable to understand how he could be so stupid, why his brilliant mind would take that moment to be so stupid, to not think through what he was doing.

"Like anyone would care if I did!" Sherlock was almost shouting in response.

John stopped walking, and for a few moments he just stared at the scowling Slytherin boy, and he knew that Sherlock believed what he was saying. He wasn't just saying it to see what John's response would be, he truly believed that nobody would care if he died.

"I'd care," John said softly, and wondered how a child grew up without knowing that anybody around him cared for him. He wondered if that was really the case, or it was just one place where Sherlock really was oblivious to the people around him.

Sherlock spun on his foot to stare at John, there was a few moments of silence as they stared at each other. He snorted. "Yeah, right," he turned away again.

John hurried after him, and grabbed his arm, spinning him so that they were facing each other again. "I mean it," he said, and he had a feeling that Sherlock knew that, but just didn't know how to respond to that.

"Why?" he asked, voice quiet.

John shrugged. "I like you."

"No one likes me," he stared at John, and his expression was almost daring, daring him to say that he did, or even daring him to say that he didn't. To prove that he was like everyone else, or completely different.

"I like you," John repeated, staring at him straight in the eyes.

"I don't see why," he yanked his wrist out of John's grip.

"Would I come charging in to save you if I didn't?"

"You _are _a Gryfindor after all, Gryffindors do like to come and save the day."

John frowned at him. "Why can't you just believe what I'm saying? You don't have to twist everything everyone says, so it works with what you think everyone else thinks. It doesn't work like that." When have you ever brushed aside the truth, and preferred to believe the lies, aren't you better than that?

"Experience tells me it does Watson."

"Then don't listen to it."

"If I don't listen to my conclusions I have nothing left."

* * *

Sherlock seemed unsure of how to act around John. He seemed to want to retreat, to pull back into himself, after letting him in. The very human response to want to protect yourself after you have opened up to a person. He wanted to retreat, to gain his bubble of impersonality. But John could see that he also didn't want to, that after that night he wanted the companionship. He would never admit it, of course he wouldn't, but it was still there.

* * *

John came to Transfiguration late one day, and hesitated at the door for a moment, glancing between sitting with Carl and Mike, or going to sit next to Sherlock who was as usual sitting on his own at the back of the room.

He moved over next to Sherlock, and the boy glanced at him sideways as he sat down. He nodded at John, who gave him a small smile in return and turned to face the teacher. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw a few of the students glancing back at them and frowning.

* * *

_Well done. You got there. Eventually I suppose. Be careful Holmes, this is only the tip of the iceberg. –RB_

Sherlock frowned and crumpled the letter in his hand.

* * *

It was announced at dinner a few nights later that Professor Hope had been behind the attacks, and that everything had been dealt with. It also in those few days where the students who had been attacked returned to school and classes, being fussed over by their friends and classmates.

Even with his name cleared, eyes still followed Sherlock, suspicious and wary, especially because word had gotten out that he had been there when Professor Hope had been apprehended.

Sherlock did what Sherlock does best, pretended to ignore them, whilst listening to every word that they said.

* * *

Books in hand, Sherlock had been walking through the common room to his dorm when he was suddenly shoved sideways. Books tumbling out of his hand and onto the floor with a clatter, he threw out his hands to get the brunt of the fall.

He shifted on his hands to see Anderson, or rather Anderson's foot as it connected with his chest. Sherlock hissed, and despite not quite having the room to do it he rolled out of the way of the next kick.

"What is your problem?" he growled, his eyes flickered around the room, and although most faces were paying attention to the scrimmage no one was moving to stop Anderson. Slytherin's fierce protection of each other, tended to be between other houses. As long as it was in the privacy of the common room, it wasn't impacting the house as a whole. And Sherlock had no older students to stand up for him.

"Think you're so clever do you?" Anderson said, behind him hovered Sebastian Wilkes, eyes fixed on Sherlock.

Sherlock, still on the ground, flung his foot out as Anderson stepped closer, attempting to keep him away so he could get back onto his feet. "What _are _you going on about?" Sherlock answered, because he was not stupid enough to say that yes, he thought he was clever.

"Watson."

Sherlock blinked. "_What?_" he was baffled enough, that he only just scrambled out of the way of another shoe, and into the wall of the common room.

"Hanging out with the Gryffindors? I bet you're telling them everything, how to get into the common room, all of Slytherin's secrets."

"Are you mad?" Sherlock barked at him, slowly getting to his feet, still leaning back against the wall.

"What other reason do you have to hang out with Gryffindors, what other reason does he have to hang out with _you,_" he spat out the word and despite himself it made Sherlock flinch.

Anderson smirked triumphant, as he stepped forward and grabbed hold of Sherlock's wrists pushing him back into the wall. "Get off," Sherlock snarled at him, trying to shove him away, but Sherlock was not strong and the attempt was futile. "No need to take your bleeding problems out on me Anderson. I'm not telling Watson anything about Slytherin."

"Yeah sure," he let go off Sherlock's wrist, but that was only so he could punch him in the face. Sherlock's head smacked back against the wall and he winced, and shoved back at him. The two tumbled to the ground.

The crowd watching started to murmur, both about the accusations, and the fight. It was not news to the younger years that Sherlock spent more time with John than anyone else, but the fact that he spent no time with anyone else affected that also.

Sherlock was losing, in fact it was all that he could do, to stop himself getting completely pummelled. He had never really gotten into fights, despite living with an elder brother their battles hadn't been fists and feet, the two had always fought with words and tricks.

"Anderson!"

Speak of the devil, Sherlock thought as Anderson leapt off him at the sound of Mycroft's voice. Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut with a wince before opening them gingerly, to see his brother stalking over, not looking pleased in the slightest.

"Explain yourself!" he barked at the other boy, who shrunk back slightly. It was a commonly known fact that one did not want to anger Mycroft Holmes.

"I-" he stumbled, looking anywhere but the elder Holmes.

"You've gotten yourself two weeks worth of detention Anderson, do you think that is fair?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him, and rather sullenly he nodded. He knew better than to disagree. He was starting to think he should have thought about the elder Holmes, before attacking the younger. "Good," he said coldly. "And if I find you attacking my brother again, you _will _regret it," his tone was icy and it dispersed whatever remaining bravado Anderson had. "That goes for the rest of you too," he said to the house at large.

If anyone else had tried that he would have gotten raised eyebrows and pushed aside, especially from a fifth year, who had two years of elders above him. But such was Mycroft Holmes, that no one dared argue, because everybody knew that he was going places, and everybody knew that disagreeing with somebody going places was a sure fire way of going no where.

Sherlock was gathering up his books at this point, and Mycroft turned to face him. "Sherlock," he said, his voice quieter, and lost the coldness in which it had addressed Anderson.

Sherlock glanced back at his brother, and the two stared at each other for a few moments. "I know," he said quietly, and Mycroft nodded.

Maybe John was right about something.

* * *

"I don't see what the problem is if I hang out with him," John said with a sigh.

Mike shrugged. "I don't have a problem with it mate, some of the others do. It's just a bunch of things really, he's a Slytherin, he's Sherlock, he is insufferable. Any one of them is enough, people just don't really like him."

"I do," John protested.

"I know you do, but Gryffindors have always had problems with Slytherins, it's a fact of life really. The fact that his own house can't stand him…"

John frowned, and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "But that is the thing isn't it? I can't just stop hanging out with him, he doesn't have any other friends Mike, I think he's lonely, not that he would ever admit it," he shrugged. "And I don't want to, even if he had lots of people that wanted to hang out with him, I wouldn't stop. I like being around him."

"He's an interesting guy that Sherlock Holmes, more so now than when I knew him when we were younger."

"Do you mind? My hanging out with him?" he bit on his lip, it had been something he had worried about.

Mike shook his head. "Nah, just be careful John."

"He's not dangerous Mike!"

"That's not what I meant, you start hanging out with him, and nearly get yourself killed, some people attract trouble, I think you've befriended someone that does."

"We're not friends."

Mike raised an eyebrow at him.

"Sherlock doesn't have friends."

"He has one, whether he'll admit it or not, he has you."

* * *

Slytherin won the house cup. And it was never mentioned but it was Sherlock's involvement in stopping Professor Hope that let them pull in front of Ravenclaw and stay there.

* * *

John was heading back to the compartment on the train in which he was sharing with Mike and Carl, after a bathroom break, when he passed the one in which Sherlock was sitting. He'd glanced around for the boy earlier, but hadn't found him. Sherlock sat on his own in the compartment, a potions book open on his lap, his feet curled up next to him.

He hesitated a moment before opening the door, Sherlock glanced up from his book. "John," he said with a nod.

"Sherlock," he responded. "Do you want to come and play exploding snap?"

Sherlock looked as if he was about to say exactly what he thought about going to play exploding snap, but instead he nodded. "Course I would."

John grinned, and Sherlock smiled.

The End.

* * *

And that would be the end, I didn't think it would be the last chapter until I was writing it, and it kind of just turned into it. Hope you enjoyed it! Also, I'm tossing up writing a sequel, it'd be set a few years later, sixth or seventh year maybe. So stay tuned for that. I could possible put another update up here, so those of you who want to read it will be alerted.


	18. Sequel: The Art of Cunning

The first chapter of the sequel 'The Art of Cunning' has been posted for those who are interested in reading it. Hope you enjoy!


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